


Par for the Course

by colourexplosion



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Famous Harry, Friends to Lovers, Jeff is a really big jerk so sorry about that, M/M, Pining, caddy louis, golf au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2590796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Harry's right there. In person. Wearing a ridiculous purple golf shirt and those stupid gloves that keep the clubs from flying out of your hands when you swing and he's staring at Louis like he's just seen a fucking ghost.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <i>Though, Louis supposes, he really sort of has.</i></p><p> </p><p>Or, a golf au. </p><p>(based on the summary of Becky Wicks' <i>Before he was Famous</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Par for the Course

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! first off, a big thank you to my betas, K1 and K2; K1 for basically plotting this whole thing out with me and then betaing it in two days, and K2 for reading it any time I'd written a new section and telling me it wasn't awful. you're the best!!! 
> 
> this is based on the summary of Becky Wicks' _Before He Was Famous_. Very, very loosely based. Ahem. 
> 
> this is all fake, please don't show to anyone connected to the boys or the boys themselves and thank you!! enjoy! 
> 
> oh ps: a big thank you to [cameron azoff, for basically inspiring the whole thing.](http://genuinelybelieve.tumblr.com/post/98301542875/corpidicarta-wwadirectory-harry-commented-on)

Superstar and Serial Dater Taylor Swift comes out as gay in mid-July, a week or two after her latest album has dropped and when everything's sticky with heat and no one wants to go outside to do anything for fear of suffocation and heat stroke. Louis sees her tweet about it (and her upcoming appearance on the Ellen Degeneres Show) nestled between an update from Liam about the horrendous traffic and the local news tweet about the record highs. He doesn't give it much thought at the time.

The morning after, Louis is half an hour late for work and stood in an endless line at Starbucks, buying overpriced coffee with the inane hope that he might not get fired.

He won’t, but by the end of the day, he’ll wish he had.

\---

“I know, I know, I'm sorry,” Louis says as he walks in the door, drink carrier in hand, four disposable cups balanced precariously on it. “I'm late, I'm sorry, it won't happen again, here's some coffee.”

Liam just hums at him from his desk and reaches out to grab a cup, eyes never leaving his computer screen. They both know Louis is talking out of his arse. This is hardly the first time he's been late, and it'll hardly be the last.

“Don't you want to know why I'm late?” he asks, prying his own cup out of the holder.

“Not particularly,” Liam says, but Louis ignores him.

“The fucking baristas were talking about Taylor Swift. Seriously. I must've been in line for an hour and a half --”

“Please, Lou, there's no way you were there for that long --”

“-- and all I heard was _Can you believe it, she's come out! Not even bisexual, just properly gay!_ ” Louis rolls his eyes and takes a drink of his coffee. He doesn't mention the other thing he'd heard the baristas talking about, the _What do you think this means about Harry Styles? They dated for over a year, right?_

Louis has enough daily reminders of Harry without having to wonder whether or not his ultra-famous girlfriend was a real girlfriend. Not that it matters to Louis, of course. They aren't friends anymore, haven't been for years, so he doesn't care whether or not it was mutual bearding or if Harry was just being a Nice Guy. It seems like the sort of thing he'd do, pretending to be a girl's boyfriend in public to make her life easier or whatever. At least, sixteen-year-old Harry would have. Louis has no idea what twenty-four-year-old Harry would do.

“If you're done, I've got a job for you,” Liam says, pulling him from his thoughts. He wasn't finished, actually, but everyone knows he'll get another chance to mention how annoyed he is at everyone's reaction to Taylor's coming out. He can wait.

“Yeah, alright,” he says, plopping down in the chair in front of Liam's desk.

“Got a client who's looking for a personal caddy.” Liam finally looks away from his screen and locks his gaze on Louis. He looks serious, but he always looks serious. It's Louis' main mission in life to cheer him up. “Do you know much about golf?”

Louis knows fuck-all about golf, but the internet is a thing that exists, and he's not giving up the opportunity to earn a huge tip or two. 

“ 'Course I do,” he scoffs, leaning back in the chair. “Just tell me when and where.”

\---

Turns out “when and where” is “nine-fifteen at the first tee wearing golf-appropriate attire.” Louis had gotten into work at half-past eight, which gave him a little under forty-five minutes to try and find some decent clothing in the back of the closet in Liam's office. The closet is unorganized to a truly ridiculous degree, though, and full of things to distract Louis’ attention. 

By the time he manages to pull the overly starched khakis on and get out to the course, he's late. Again. It's just one of those days.

He hops on a golf cart and drives over to the first tee. All he knows about being a caddy is that he's got to carry golf clubs, and there's no chance in hell of Louis lugging a great bloody bag around on his shoulder all day, so. Cart it is, then. When he makes it to the tee, he can see the back of two blokes, one tall and dark-haired and the other shorter and bleach blond.

He honks the horn in the cart, just because he can, and just because he already hates the look of these two blokes. Anyone who pays to play golf at a club as posh as this deserves to get honked at, probably.

He pulls the cart to a jagged stop, leaving the key in the ignition as he hops out.

“Hello,” he says, bright and loud and fake fake fake, “I'm Louis, I'll be your caddy.” He smiles at the blond, who's laughing in a way that suggests he can't really help it, and offers a hand.

“Niall,” he says, shaking Louis' hand. “But I'm not the one who requested you.”

“Of course,” Louis says, nodding. “Still, a pleasure.” He turns to the other bloke, who's been suspiciously quiet. He's probably just startled. Louis tends to have that effect.

“You are?” he asks, dragging his gaze up the long line of the bloke's body, his voice cutting off sharply when he reaches his face.

His _face._ God, Louis knows that face, spent years fantasizing over that face and seeing it every day until he hadn't seen it ever again.

“Harry,” he chokes out, watching Harry blink frantically a few times and swallow thickly. God. _God._

The last time Louis saw Harry Styles in person was nearly eight years ago, when he was eighteen and still fashion-impaired and Harry was sixteen and even more fashion-impaired. He remembers helping Harry load his bags into the trunk of his mum's car and standing by the open door with his arms tight around him, face buried in his curls. He remembers holding on, his hands fisted in the back of Harry's jumper for so long that his mum, Anne -- who was usually patient and kind and tolerant of their antics -- had sighed, exasperated, and told Harry to hurry up. They were best friends, and Harry was leaving for London. Louis had stood and watched their red Subaru drive all the way down the road, his hand lifted in one last wave as Harry and his family disappeared around the corner. Louis hadn't seen him again.

Until now, obviously. Now, of all fucking times. At nine-fifteen (twenty-three, but whatever) on a golf course whilst wearing stiff khaki pants and a scratchy polyester shirt. Louis can feel the weight of Niall's stare on his back and he's fairly certain he's going to sneeze from the freshly mown grass, but fuck. _Fuck._

Harry's right there. In person. Wearing a ridiculous purple golf shirt and those stupid gloves that keep the clubs from flying out of your hands when you swing and he's staring at Louis like he's just seen a fucking ghost.

Though, Louis supposes, he really sort of has.

“You're the client who needs a caddy?” Louis asks, unable to keep the high-pitched note of incredulousness out of his voice.

“You're the _caddy_?”

“You two know each other?” Niall asks, his accent tinged with wariness.

“We used to,” Louis blurts out before he thinks about it, fighting the urge to turn away and run. “A long time ago.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and if it were eight years ago, Louis would say he sounds sad. But it's not eight years ago, and Louis doesn't know Harry like that anymore. “S'been awhile.”

Louis holds back a snort. Christ, it might've been easier if Liam had just fired him today.

“Okay,” Niall says after a pause. “I'm gonna play some golf.”

He walks off and Harry follows him. Louis sighs and gets in his cart. He is being paid for this, after all.

\---

Louis learns many things about Harry over the course of the next four hours, most importantly this: Harry is just as clumsy as he was at sixteen. He trips over no fewer than twelve bumps on the course and yet remains steadfast in his refusal to get in the cart with Louis.

“I remember how you drive,” he'd said when Louis had told him to get in, “I'm not doing that. My manager says I shouldn't take any unnecessary risks.”

“Then you ought to invest in a bubble suit,” Louis had snapped back, and sped off. Niall seemed content to keep Harry company as they walked, which was fine because Louis didn't really fancy making awkward conversation with him anyway. They're also both insistent on carrying their own clubs, which means Louis is uselessly riding around behind them in the cart, watching them laugh and chat and generally be friends. It's so fucking stupid.

They're on the tenth hole when he breaks.

“You know you're literally paying me to be here, right,” he says, as Niall lines up his shot. Harry's watching him intently, eyes trained on what Louis assumes is Niall's grip on his club.

“Yeah,” Harry answers, but he doesn't say anything else, doesn't even look at him, and Louis fucking hates that.

“Well, do you want me to go, then?”

Harry turns his head at that, brow scrunching slightly as he peers at Louis. He’s silent for long enough that Louis shifts in his seat, uncomfortable.

“No,” Harry says, after Niall's finally swung and hit the ball with a loud _thwack!_ “I'd like it if you stayed.”

Well.

If Harry wants to waste his money, then that's his business.

\---

The eighteenth hole is a nightmare.

It's the last one, Louis knows because he knows enough about golf to know that, but he's got no idea who's winning or why they're even still playing, honestly. He's so _bored._

It doesn't help that his only form of entertainment is discreetly checking out Harry as he lines up his shots. The Harry that Louis remembers was a tiny thing, no taller than himself, with unruly curls and a positively cherubic face. He was sweet, so sweet and untouchable, which is probably exactly why Louis wanted to ruin him.

This Harry is still attractive – that part is undeniable – but it's in an entirely different way. He's tall now, much taller than Louis would've ever guessed he'd be, and his hair is long and tamer, his curls a looser sort of ringlet that Louis still wants to run his fingers through and tug. Christ, Harry'd always loved it when Louis played with his hair.

No, no, okay. He cannot do this. He won't allow himself to get sucked back into his eighteen-year-old lizard brain. It's not a good place for anyone. But he supposes letting his eyes linger over the twist of Harry's waist as he swings his club can't really hurt anyone.

“So, you said you know him?” Niall says, startling Louis.

“I used to know him,” he corrects. “No idea what he's like now.”

Niall looks at him for a moment, and then to Harry. “What was he like then?”

 _He was everything to me_ , Louis wants to say, but that seems both melodramatic and unnecessary.

“Dunno, just a kid. Good in school, when he wasn't letting me distract him, had all the girls following him around like little ducklings. Clumsy as anything.” Louis shrugs. He won't mention how Harry was the best friend he'd ever had, the one he told everything to and the one person he'd never thought he'd lose.

He never has liked admitting he's wrong.

“So not really that different,” Niall says, but it's gentle somehow, like he's trying to make Louis see something. Louis has no idea what it is he's supposed to find.

“Like I said,” Louis says with a shrug, averting his eyes as Harry turns to grin at Niall. “It's been a long time.”

Niall only hums in response as Harry moves away from the tee, letting Niall take his place. Mostly, Harry's been keeping his distance, but maybe curiosity's finally got the better of him, since he's making his way toward Louis.

“Hope you weren't telling him any embarrassing stories,” he says, coming to a stop at Louis' side. He smells faintly of sweat and aftershave, mixed with whatever posh deodorant he uses. Louis didn't know it was possible to break a sweat playing golf, but he supposes he's still got a lot to learn.

“Only about the time you wet yourself in sociology and had to go home early,” Louis says, unable to stop himself from smirking.

Harry blinks at him. “You mean that time you snuck into my class and deliberately spilled your tea all over my trousers?”

“Maybe,” Louis says, sharper than he means. “Got you out of class, didn't it?”

“Suppose so,” Harry shrugs. “Didn't end up needing that class anyway.”

Louis snorts. “Suppose sociology really hasn’t much bearing on songwriting, eh? Definitely not your career as a socialite, either.”

Harry's expression shutters immediately. Right. Probably a bit uncouth to reference that whole period where Harry hung off Caroline Flack's arm like a designer boy toy, but, whatever. Louis is allowed to be bitter. They were _best friends._

“Didn't realize you'd paid such close attention to my career,” he says and Louis rolls his eyes, ignoring the tiny flare of panic in his chest. He'd been so desperate for anything, any news about Harry, that he had taken whatever he could get. He still has embarrassingly large piles of _Ok!_ hidden in the back of his closet.

“Hard not to, wasn't it,” he says, “Your face was on every bloody magazine. Couldn't go to the shops without reading about your favorite color.” _Or your newest girlfriend_ , he thinks.

“Are you trying to get me to fire you?” Harry sounds a bit wary, a bit wrong-footed, like he's not quite sure what to do with Louis. It's terrible and feels like a misbalance in the universe, but Louis can relate.

Louis lifts an eyebrow. “Do you want to fire me?”

Harry looks at him for a moment, stares like he's been doing all fucking day, all quiet and considering, and shrugs. “No.”

Louis keeps his face blank, but only just. “Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

\---

The thing is, Louis and Harry were never anything more than best friends. Shocking, truly shocking, especially considering they grew up in a tiny Northern town where the only exposure to gay people was on the television. It took Louis an embarrassingly long time to realize that wanting to cuddle up in the same bed as your friend every single night wasn't normal. And if that wasn't normal, wanting to kiss them every time you made them laugh definitely wasn't either.

By the time Louis finally cottoned on, Harry was already set to move to London with his family. The combination of wanting to kiss Harry more than anything and trying his hardest to hide the feelings made the last few weeks with Harry nearly unbearable, made it difficult for him to sleep or concentrate on anything except how messed up he was over his best mate.

Looking back, he realizes he was probably a shit friend when Harry needed him. Harry was barely sixteen and moving to London, his sister going off to uni in the fall and it'd just be him and his parents. Louis can remember humid summer nights spent in his backyard, Harry laid out next to him on a blanket and both of them staring at the stars. He'd talk about how scared he was, how he wasn't going to know anyone and how he'd never make any friends. Louis hadn't said anything at the time, had barely even heard him, actually, because it was impossible to concentrate when he could feel Harry's hand against his and hear the rumble of his voice in his ear. He hadn't really known what to say, anyway. Asking him to stay would've been out of the question – completely unrealistic and besides, what could Louis even offer him? A shitty flat in the middle of nowhere with a best mate who'd developed a sexuality crisis and a massive crush? Harry was straight, and Louis knew that. It'd only hurt more if Harry had stayed.

So, Louis hadn't said anything except that Harry was being ridiculous over nothing and that people loved him wherever he went. It seemed to mollify Harry, because he'd rolled over and snuggled into Louis' side and they hadn't spoken of it again.

It's probably one of the reasons they didn't keep in touch very well. The deterioration of Louis' behavior afterward hadn't helped either. It's hard to keep in contact with someone when your mobile phone gets taken away every week because you can't control yourself in class, and Louis was always terrible at emails and letters. Facebook is practically the bane of his existence, but that doesn't matter because Harry had deleted his just before his record was released. Louis still followed him on Twitter, but 140 characters just never seemed enough for what he'd wanted to say.

Besides, somewhere along the line, Harry unfollowed him. Louis wasn't going to turn into one of those fans who tweeted at him multiple times a day. If Harry wanted to unfollow him, he could. And he had. So there wasn't really an issue.

That's how it went. Harry moved away, made friends with the poshest people he could find in London while Louis re-did his A Levels, re-failed his A Levels and got fired from shitty job after shitty job. He's been going at the club for a solid four months, which is sort of a personal best for him.

Somehow he thinks he should have known that something would happen to jeopardize that.

\---

“Liam, I lied, I have absolutely no knowledge of golf whatsoever,” Louis says, bursting into the office and sitting in the chair in front of Liam's desk.

“Of course you lied,” Liam says, like that's a reasonable thing for an employee to do, much less admit to their boss. “Why would you know anything about golf? We only work at a country club.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Anyway, my point is, I can't do that caddy job, you'll have to find someone else.”

Liam looks up at him, frowning. “Why?”

“Did you not hear me? I don't know anything about golf.”

“Louis, look it up on the internet. I've given it to you, you need to do it.”

“I don't want it,” Louis says, throwing his hands up. “Find someone else.”

“There isn't anyone else,” Liam says, insufferably calm. He's always doing that. It drives Louis mad. “If there were, I would've asked them first.”

“Fuck you too, then,” Louis says, though there's not much heat to it. More of just a defeated sigh. “Look, you could've at least warned me it was Harry Styles.”

Liam's eyes go wide at that. “ _That's_ who you're caddying for?”

“Uh, yes? You gave me the job, didn't you know that?”

“Paul told me about it! Said the client wanted to be as anonymous as possible. I dunno. Just thought it was some old rich bloke.”

“Oh my god,” Louis groans, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. “I can't believe you. You didn't even ask him?”

“It's not my place to question the client's requests,” Liam answers, his back going all straight like it does when he thinks he's being proper. “I was just doing my job.”

“Well, now I'm stuck following Harry Styles around all day in a golf cart. He doesn't even let me carry his clubs. He _walks._ All eighteen holes!”

Liam doesn't respond for a moment, his mouth all twisted up, and then, carefully, “You know, anyone else might be excited to caddy for Harry Styles.”

God, Louis hates it when Liam figures things out.

“Anyone else wasn't his best friend who got dropped when he moved to London,” Louis spits back, standing and smoothing down his hideous shirt. “I'm going to the bar. Got a shift with Zayn in a few.”

“Yeah, alright,” Liam says, but he looks sort of sad. Or maybe he's just confused. Could be anything with Liam. “Tell him I say hi.”

“Tell him yourself,” Louis says, and walks out the door. 

\---

The bar is blissfully empty when Louis walks in, probably because it's not even the middle of the day and the members of this club have a modicum of respect for themselves.

He slides onto a stool in front of the register, pulling out his phone to bring up Google. Might as well get some research in.

 _Golf_ , he types in, scrolling down for the Wikipedia result page.

 _Golf is a precision club and ball sport in which competing players (golfers)_ – Louis rolls his eyes – _use many types of clubs to hit balls into a series of holes on a course using the fewest number of strokes._

Christ. Not even sexual innuendo can keep this sport from being ridiculously boring. He clicks out of the window and presses his forehead to the varnished wood of the bar.

“Bit early to be trashed, mate,” a familiar voice says from above him and Louis lifts his head, making a face at Zayn.

“Not trashed, tired and cranky.”

“S'exactly how you act when you're trashed.”

“Fuck off,” Louis says, throwing one of those skinny straws at him. 

Zayn dodges and returns to his place, nodding his head toward the doorway. “Watch it, got some coming in.”

Louis straightens, slides off the stool and hurries behind the bar and into the back office. They keep extra wait staff shirts in there, so he shrugs out of his itchy polo and into a soft black button down, rolling up the sleeves to his elbows. He ought to tuck it in lest he offend some old rich bird's sensibilities, but he doesn't because he feels like enough of a fool in his khaki pants. He wishes he'd thought to change back into his black jeans in Liam's office, but knowing Liam's slightly terrifying dedication to the dress code, he probably burned them and scattered the ashes over the golf course.

He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up a bit, and makes his way back out into the bar, ready to charm some elderly patrons.

Of course, as luck would have it, the only two people in there are Harry and Niall. They've sat themselves at the bar, Harry looking on and smiling nicely at Zayn, who's gesturing wildly and lit up like a beacon whilst telling a story to Niall, who looks a bit stunned. Louis can relate. He's fairly certain he didn't speak to Zayn for ten whole minutes when he first met him, which is major. Really.

“He might take awhile,” Louis says, grabbing a notebook and a pen and standing in front of Harry at the bar. He turns to look at Louis, blinking, like he's surprised. Of course, he probably already forgot Louis works here. “What'll you have?”

“I thought you'd never get tattoos,” Harry says, which isn't an order at all. Louis raises an eyebrow at him.

“Things change,” Louis responds, because he doesn't quite know how to say _I got so used to seeing them on you that I thought I might get some of my own_ without sounding terribly, terribly creepy. Especially considering the whole ship and compass thing. Louis really hadn't meant for that to happen. He'd gone to his artist one weekend, got a compass, and then two days later had seen the picture of Harry's ship, still red and slightly swollen, on his bicep. He hadn't taken off his hoodie for weeks. Truthfully, he's relieved the sleeves of his shirt cover it now. Though there's no telling whether or not Harry had seen it earlier. Fuck. _Fuck._

“They're nice,” Harry says, smiling at him sort of blandly, and Louis feels sick to his stomach.

“Are you going to order or not,” he snaps, and Harry rattles off his order. Louis turns away from him when he's done, walks into the kitchen and doesn't look back.

\--- 

The rest of the day is uneventful compared to the insane morning Louis had. Harry and Niall eat their lunch, chatting idly with Zayn and Louis until two men in posh golf gear walk in and steal their attention away. They leave with them, and that's the last Louis sees of them for the day. He spends the remainder of it working in the restaurant with Zayn, making “gourmet” sandwiches for women in pristine brand-name sport clothing and men with vintage golf clubs that cost more than Louis' car.

He makes a killing in tips, putting on his most charming smile and flirting at all the right moments. It's a sort of talent he's developed from years of getting himself out of tough spots. He's not the instant sort of charmer that Harry is, where people don't even really know what they're up against because they can't see anything past his giant eyes and pink mouth. No, Louis has always been good at talking his way out of anything. Quick-witted and sharp, that's what Louis is. He's had to earn what he's got, hasn't had it all just handed to him.

In any case, he's exhausted by the time he's hauled himself home and thrown himself into bed face first. His phone beeps in his pocket, vibrating against his hip. He groans at it, managing to roll over and dig it out. He still hasn't changed out of his khakis.

_4got 2 tell u 815 tea time w harry/ 2morrow_

Louis raises an eyebrow.

**not having dinner with him liam try again**

_fuk off. tee time happy?_

**ta** , Louis sends, and promptly falls asleep.

\---

_The halls of his school are a pale, grimy green, almost grey, really, from all the grubby hands that've been rubbed on them over the years. There's posters peeling off the walls, fliers for events and fundraising drives and all sorts of things that Louis couldn't care less about._

_The thing is, he mostly just needs to pee. Like, badly._

_He runs down the deserted corridor, past Ms. Mulligan's Chemistry lab and around a corner. There's a bathroom back here that no one ever uses, because it always smells a bit like formaldehyde and skunk weed – which Louis is fairly certain means that the teachers use it to smoke up during breaks, but no one believes him – but Louis is desperate enough at the moment to risk it._

_Of course, the moment he pushes the door open, he regrets it immediately, because there's a couple making out against the wall with the urinals on it – which, ew – and the stalls haven't got any doors on them. Normally he'd give it a go anyway, but he recognizes the back of that head, the dark curly hair and the slump of the shoulders, the curve of the spine. It's Harry, sixteen-year-old **Harry** , who's Louis' best mate, who Louis didn't even know had kissed a girl, much less full out snogged one in the nasty bathrooms on the second floor._

_The girl moans, her body shifting under Harry's, and Louis blinks, feels his stomach go heavy at the way Harry's hand has disappeared up under her skirt and how it's moving in a strangely familiar rhythm. God. **God.** Louis should not be watching this. He can't move, though, feels like he's paralyzed and ill and made out of stone, maybe._

_The bell rings, but it makes Louis frown. It's not their usual bell. The normal one is just a sort of awful buzzer that makes everyone jolt when they hear it, and this one sounds more like the Flaming Lips'_ Do You Realize? _That can't be right, though. School bells aren't supposed to sound like that._

_“Louis,” a voice says, but when Louis looks around, everyone's gone, even Harry and his girl. What the hell?_

“Louis, wake the fuck up,” the voice says again, and Louis feels cold and wet and gasps, blinking awake.

“What the _fuck_ , Zayn?” Louis is drenched, covered in ice water, clearly thrown on him by Zayn and – fuck, he'd been having a flashback dream about Harry. Fuck, he should've seen this coming. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Your phone's going,” Zayn says, and shuffles out of Louis' room.

“Fuck you,” Louis calls out after him, and picks up his phone. It's Liam. Of course it's Liam.

“What,” he snaps, and hears Liam sigh on the other end.

“Your tee time's eight-fifteen,” he says, and Louis looks around at his digital clock. Seven-twelve. God. “You're welcome,” Liam says, and hangs up. Louis groans and throws his phone down onto his pillows, face-planting into them afterward.

Harry Styles can wait an extra five minutes. It won't kill him. Probably.

\---

In the end he's only about ten minutes late, but Harry and his partner for the day have already started.

“Nice of you to join us,” the partner says when Louis pulls up in his cart. He's a tall man, though not as tall as Harry, dark-haired and American and Louis can tell he's just going to hate him.

“Of course,” he responds, because he can't say _it's not as if I actually do anything_ , because that might end in either a) him having to do something or b) Harry firing him altogether. Not that Harry's really paying attention to anything that's happening behind him.

Louis watches as Harry lines up his shot and takes it, the twist of his waist and ripple of his shoulders under his shirt making Louis have to look away for a moment. It's far too early for that sort of thing.

Harry turns to give his companion a go and finally notices Louis. He smiles, lifts a hand in greeting.

“Morning, Louis,” he says, voice still pleasantly deep with sleep. He probably rolled out of bed not much earlier than Louis himself. “Nice of you to join.”

Harry's companion looks smug at that, and Louis rolls his eyes. Usually a comment like that wouldn't be anything except genuine coming from Harry, but. It's been eight years. And this new fellow knows Harry much better than Louis does. So.

“Nice of you to pick a tee time after sunrise,” Louis says, leaning back in his seat to put his feet on the cart's steering wheel. “Oh, wait...”

Harry only laughs and rolls his eyes, and he looks like he's about to say something else, but then the American bloke hits his ball and lets out an embarrassing whooping noise. Louis raises an eyebrow at Harry, as if to say, _this is who you're friends with now?_ and Harry shrugs at him in response.

“Louis, this is Jeff,” he says, once the bloke's wandered back over after embarrassing himself. “Jeff, this is Louis.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Jeff says, but he's looking at Louis like he's something a dog's brought to the door, so Louis gives him his nicest smile in response.

“Of course,” he says, “It's a pleasure.”

It's really, really not. 

Louis spends his morning carting Jeff around, even though he's being paid specifically to be Harry's caddy. Jeff had insisted that one of them use the cart, at least, so Louis wasn't just sitting around and watching them uselessly, but all he does is pester Louis with questions about how he got the job since he clearly knows nothing about golf and shout insults at the back of Harry's head. (Which, that's _Louis'_ job, thank you.) If he's not doing either of those, he's pretending Louis doesn't exist at all.

It's miserable. It's exactly the sort of thing he's spent his whole four-month career at the club avoiding, and the longer the morning stretches on, the more he wants to brain himself on the steering wheel of his golf cart.

“Y'alright, Louis?” Harry asks him somewhere around the eleventh hole while Jeff takes ten million light years to line up his shot. (He hasn't hit a single green so far. Louis doesn't know why he even fucking bothers.)

“Fine,” he says shortly, hands on his hips. He's in the same khakis as yesterday, so they're a bit less stiff, but they did manage to become stained with something greenish brown right on the top of his thigh. Jeff had made a comment about it earlier and Louis ignored him, but right now it's all he can think about. Christ, he's such a mess. “You going to use a nine iron on this one?”

Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “Didn't know you knew what a nine iron was,” he says, sounding more amused than impressed, but that's fine because it's not as if Louis is trying to impress him. That'd be stupid.

“ 'Course I do, I'm not a complete idiot.”

“Thought I might use a driver on this one. Seems like a tricky hole,” Harry says, looking out over the course. “So maybe the one wood.”

Louis presses his lips together in a tight line. He knows what Harry is doing, he's trying to make him laugh with inappropriate jokes, but Louis won't have it. Inappropriate jokes are his area.

“Sure,” he says eventually, smiling blandly at Harry. “Whatever you'd like.”

Something glints in Harry's eyes, like a challenge or maybe just the bright morning sun. It doesn't matter. Harry nods to his bag and clears his throat.

“Fetch it for me, then,” he says, his mouth stretching into something that must be a mirror of Louis' own. “If you please.”

Louis narrows his eyes briefly and then steps back. Fine, if that's how Harry wants to play it, then fine. He turns to the bag and glances over the clubs – some skinnier ones, a strange long one, a few with covers over the heads – and picks the biggest one he can find. He knows enough about physics to know that something big hitting something small will make the small thing go farther, and if he's wrong, well, then Harry and Jeff can have a laugh at him later. He's being paid for something, apparently.

He slides the club out of the bag and thrusts it toward Harry, who laughs, but not in a mean way. A sort of delighted way, actually.

“Did you really know this is the driver, or did you guess?”

Well, a lucky guess, then. Harry doesn't need to know that. Louis raises an eyebrow at him, keeps his face otherwise impassive. “I told you, I'm not a complete idiot.”

Harry's smile fades, just a bit. “Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, thank you.”

Louis shrugs in response. “S'what I'm here for.”

They finish the round in relative silence, Harry and Jeff opting to speak only to one another and completely ignoring Louis' existence. More than once, he thinks about just driving off and going back to the clubhouse, but he feels like that's what they expect him to do, so obviously he has to stay to spite them both.

“Thanks for your help today,” Harry says as they make their way back across the course, Louis driving slowly beside them as they walk.

“It's what he's paid for,” Jeff says, rolling his eyes. Louis' hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. Fuck, the nerve of this guy. 

“Is this how you treat everyone around you, or just people whose company you pay for?” Louis asks sharply. “Is there even a difference?”

Jeff turns to look at him, his face twisted up in a way that's familiar to Louis from all the times he's gotten himself into trouble by saying something he shouldn't. At least Jeff can't technically fire him, though he opens his mouth to try, probably, but he's cut off.

“Jeff,” Harry says with a hard edge to his voice. “C’mon.”

Jeff makes a noise, as if to protest, like he's not being an absolute raging arsehole, but Harry just shakes his head, looking disappointed, and that shuts him up. The entire way back to the clubhouse is silent and tense, Louis' hands flexing around the steering wheel as he resists the urge to run Jeff over from behind.

They make it down the path and toward the posh locker rooms they have for the club members. Louis watches as Harry catches up with Jeff, knocking their shoulders together and leaning his head in to say something. Louis is too far to hear what it is, and he doesn't care. He doesn't know how Harry can stand to be friends with someone who treats other people like shit, but he doesn't _care._

Harry looks back over his shoulder, catching Louis' gaze, as if he could feel him watching and raises his hand in a wave. Louis rolls his eyes and speeds off toward the cart return.

He doesn't care about Harry Styles anymore. He can't.

\--- 

Louis arrives at the course the next morning – in freshly washed and stain-free khakis – to find Harry alone at the first hole, leaning against his golf bag. He's dressed in all black today, a black polo tucked into black pants that hug his thighs in an obscene way. The only consolation is the fact that his black cap and sunglasses make him look a bit like a beat poet and therefore like a massive idiot.

“Waiting on someone?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow.

Harry tilts his head, smiling a bit. “Only you and me today.”

“Right,” Louis says, though he feels a bit like he might vomit. A whole morning alone with Harry. Surely he has nothing to be nervous about. “Does that mean you'll finally get in the cart?”

“Not in a million years, Tomlinson,” Harry laughs, and turns away to put his tee in the ground. Louis doesn't even pretend not to look at his arse.

\---

The next few days all go like that. Louis shows up in the morning to find Harry already on the course, alone. He plays all eighteen holes and refuses to get in the cart or let Louis help him in any way. It's ridiculous and frustrating, because if Harry's going to do all the work himself, why is Louis even here?

“You know you're literally wasting money right now,” Louis says finally, on the fifth day of watching Harry play the most boring sport on Earth. “You won't even let me drive you around in the cart.”

“Because I value my life,” Harry says, but that's unfair, really, because Louis only ran into something _once_ and that was weeks ago. He's very good at driving the cart.

“It's fucking useless for me to be here,” he snaps, and Harry stops walking, so Louis stops driving. Harry lifts his sunglasses into his hair and frowns.

“You mean you feel useless,” he says, and Louis scoffs. “You always hated that.”

Okay, seriously? Fuck this. 

“Look,” he says, sitting up in his seat, hands balled up into fists on his thighs, “I don't know what this is, if you're just trying to – to embarrass me or put me in my place or – or whatever, but I get it, alright, Harry? I get it. You moved the fuck on to better things and I'm stuck here. Message received.”

Harry's face has scrunched up, like he doesn't understand what Louis is saying or why he's saying it, so that probably just means no one's ever stood up to him. He doesn't speak for a long moment, and Louis swallows thickly, focusing on the bite of his nails into his palms.

Then, Harry moves, sliding his golf bag off his shoulder and setting it in the back of the cart before sitting down in the front, next to Louis. He flips his glasses back into place and leans back in the seat. Louis stares at him.

“If you're not going to drive, I might as well walk,” Harry says, and Louis blinks, kicks the cart into drive and goes.

He makes sure to drive carefully, avoiding every dip and bump on the way to the next hole.

“Why am I here?” he asks as Harry gets back into the cart.

Harry shrugs. “I needed a caddy,” he says, shifting in the seat. “I didn't know you worked here.”

“I never said you did,” Louis sighs, “But, I mean. You're right, Harry. I'm useless. Why am I here?”

Harry frowns at him, like he disapproves. “You're not useless, I never said that. Besides, you gave me my driver the other day.”

“It was a lucky guess. I know fuck-all about golf and you know I know fuck-all about it. Why not get a caddy who actually knows what they're doing?”

Harry opens his mouth a couple of times like he might answer, but each time he only lets out a noise that sounds like a deflating balloon. “You're going to think it's stupid,” he says finally, and Louis raises an eyebrow at him.

“Try me.”

Harry sighs. “Well, it's like – it's been so long, and I thought for awhile that I'd like, maybe never see you again. But then you showed up and I just remembered – everything. You're like. You were my best friend. I kind of feel like it's Fate.” 

Louis blinks, swallowing around the feeling of his heartbeat thrumming in his throat. “Fate?” He knows his voice sounds incredulous, but all that is kind of difficult to take in. “You think it's Fate?”

“I knew you'd think it's stupid,” Harry says, crossing his arms, and Louis can't help it, he has to reach across and wrap a hand around Harry's elbow.

“Hey, I don't. I promise, I don't. You're not stupid.”

Harry looks down at Louis' hand and puts one of his huge hands over it. Louis thinks it'd be comforting if it weren't also completely suffocating. Christ, how does a touch of their hands make him feel like he can't breathe? That can't be right.

“I still don't know anything about golf, though,” Louis says, clearing his throat and leaning back, slipping his hand out from under Harry's.

Harry smiles at him, all bright white teeth and too familiar. “That's alright. I can teach you.”

Which is how mornings of Harry playing golf by himself turn into Harry teaching Louis to play. Or, rather, attempting to teach Louis how to use the driver without it flying out of his hands. Louis has yet to hit anyone with it, so he calls it a success.

“Alright, I want you to put your hands here,” Harry says, adjusting Louis' grip on the handle of his driver. “I think the problem is that these were made for me, so they're a bit too long for you.”

“Oh yes, poor you, having to buy custom-made golf clubs,” Louis says, rolling his eyes to cover the wild pounding of his heart. It's only the second day they've done this, but each time Harry gets close, Louis gets a whiff of his expensive cologne. It's making him a bit weak in the knees. He feels properly stupid about it all, actually, because he's not some love interest in a rom-com. He's a real person with real feelings and a hint of Harry's cologne should not be making him feel this way.

“That's not what I meant,” Harry says, and Louis can tell from the tone of his voice that he's pouting. “I was calling you short.”

Louis squawks and elbows him in the chest, sticking his tongue out at the hurt look on Harry's face. “You deserved that, don't try to deny it.”

“You didn't have to _elbow me_.”

“I really think I did,” Louis says primly, adjusting his grip how Harry showed him. “And I just swing back like this –” He pulls the driver back, twisting at the waist and letting his knees bend a little. “– and hit?” 

“And hit,” Harry confirms with a nod, and Louis twists again, trying to put as much force as he can behind it. The club hits the ball with a nice _whack!_ and it goes sailing.

“Oh my god, look!” Louis points as the ball arcs through the air. “I actually hit it!”

Harry laughs behind him, claps a hand on his shoulder and then laughs even harder as the ball sails right into the sand pit.

“Fuck,” Louis says, deflating a bit.

“Don't worry about it,” Harry tells him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Just means you get to learn to use the wedge!”

\---

After twenty minutes with the wedge and about fifty strokes over par, Louis decides he's had enough.

“I –” He swings at the ball, misses. “– hate –” Swing, miss. “– this –” Swing, cascade of sand in face. “– fucking game!!”

Louis can hear Harry belly-laughing behind him as he continues to swing at the sand before giving up entirely, throwing the club down and stomping back to the cart.

“We'll just give you a scratch for that one,” Harry says once he's calmed down enough to get back in the cart with Louis. His cheeks are red, his eyes a bit puffy, as if he's been crying, literally crying with laughter at Louis' failure.

Louis wants to be mad, but the sight reminds him of all those times when they were teenagers and he'd managed to make Harry laugh so hard that he lost his breath. More than once he'd nearly needed his inhaler, which had both terrified Louis and made his chest swell up with pride. Louis' less scared this time around, which is good, because he's fairly certain asthma is a thing you don't just grow out of.

“How generous of you,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest, and Harry laughs again.

“I didn't even try my first time around. Just took the extra strokes and kept on playing.”

“Well, you know me,” Louis says awkwardly, looking away from Harry and starting the cart back up. There's a while until the next hole, especially now that he's started driving normally and not like a speed demon. The things he does in the name of safety.

“Lou,” Harry says, but Louis shakes his head.

“Nothing, forget it.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “So. You never told me how you ended up back here.”

 _Back here_ meaning just outside of Manchester in the middle of nowhere. Louis would give anything to get out, can't even begin to fathom why Harry would want to come back.

Harry shrugs. “Wanted something familiar, I suppose.”

“Your family's not still in London?” Louis frowns. He feels like he would've heard if they'd moved back. 

“No, they are, but –” Harry sighs, shrugging again. “I dunno. London just never felt like home to me. Not like this place.”

Louis makes a sort of noncommittal noise in response. He's not really sure how to respond, actually. _I'm sorry_ seems a bit trite, and complaining about how terrible this place is seems outright rude. Maybe it'd seem special to Louis if he'd ever not been trapped here.

“Been a long time since you've been back,” he says, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Eight years. A really long time.”

 _Why now_ , he wants to ask. _Why have you chosen now to upend my life?_

Harry shifts in the seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Guess I just wanted to be in a place where I felt like people understood me. Where I come from, and stuff.”

Louis glances at him, takes in the sad tilt to his mouth and looks away.

“If you wanted me to sell some terrible stories from your childhood, you could've just asked. Sent a letter or summat.”

“Nah,” Harry says. “Much better to tell you in person, I think.”

Louis grins. “How much do you think I could get for the one about the time we got caught on the roof after lunch?”

“Not nearly as much as the one about the time we got trapped in the girls' locker room before third period.”

“Oh my god,” Louis says. “I'd completely forgotten. Fuck, d'you remember the look on Ally Grady's face?”

“I honestly thought she was going to shove our heads into the toilets,” Harry says with a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“Can you imagine the headlines? 'Harry Styles' Secret Voyeur Past REVEALED’,” Louis laughs. He doesn't mention that the only reason they were in the locker room in the first place was to slip a note into some girl's bag asking if she'd go to the formal with him.

“Not so different from the usual headlines, really,” Harry says, and he sounds only kind of bitter about it.

“Suppose not much has changed, eh?” Louis says, nudging him with his elbow. Harry looks at him, smirking.

“More than you'd think, probably.”

 _You dated Taylor Swift for a year_ , Louis thinks. _Leggy and blonde was always your type, even if you were just her beard._

“Probably,” Louis parrots, slowing the cart to a stop at the next hole. “Anyway, you ready?”

“Always,” Harry says, and jumps out of the cart. Louis pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath and follows.

\--- 

“I'm going out of town for a few days next week.”

Louis raises an eyebrow and glances at Harry where he's sat beside him in the cart, his long, tattooed arm stretched around the back of Louis' headrest. The proximity makes Louis feel a bit like his skin's going to vibrate right off his body but, well, he can deal with that. He can.

“So I don't get to watch the sunrise? Damn,” Louis says, feigning disappointment. Harry laughs and nudges Louis with his thumb, pressing right into his spine and sending a spike of – of something down it.

“Thought you'd be happy at the chance to sleep in.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “What, you want me to grovel at your feet?”

Harry doesn't respond for a moment and Louis glances at him, holding back a smirk at the way his cheeks have gone pink.

“Just thought you'd be more appreciative, is all,” Harry mumbles, and Louis laughs. His other option would have been to make another borderline inappropriate comment, and he's not sure how well his tentative peace with Harry would've taken that.

“Thank you, Styles, for taking pity on me and my sleep schedule.”

“You're welcome,” Harry says, nudging him again, making Louis shift in his seat.

“Where're you going, then?”

“London, just for a bit,” Harry says, running his hand through his hair. “Got some meetings with potential artists. A bit of promo. Things like that.”

Louis frowns. Promo? “Are you releasing a new album?” As far as he knows, Harry’s only released two, though a third's been said to be in the works for at least a year and a half. No one's very hopeful it'll actually come out, especially since every new Harry Styles song seems to be sung by someone who isn't Harry Styles.

“Not for awhile I think,” he says with a shrug. “Just haven't got the right songs yet.” He laughs, scrubbing a hand through his hair again. “The label's a bit pissed at me, actually. Especially since I keep selling songs to other people.”

“Well,” Louis says, as if he knows anything at all about record labels and music executives, “That's probably frustrating. They're trying to make money off you, aren't they? You're making it difficult.”

Harry looks at him for a long moment, the weight of his stare making Louis' neck flush. He smiles, his mouth stretching wide, like the Cheshire cat – God, Louis hates himself a bit for that comparison, _Cheshire_ – and he chuckles. Honest to God _chuckles._ Louis shouldn't be endeared, but he is. It's terrible.

“You're right,” Harry says, “I tend to make a lot of things difficult for them.”

“Yeah, like dating girls who turn out to be lesbians.”

The words are out of his mouth before he thinks about them, and the second he hears himself say it he wishes he could just grab them and stuff them back in. Fuck, he hadn't meant to say that. He hadn't meant to – to just – Christ, he's an idiot.

Harry clears his throat, shifting on his seat. “Yeah, I suppose,” he says, and then pauses. Louis wants to die. He wants to speed right into a tree and let himself fly right into the trunk, but if he did that, he'd probably hurt Harry as well.

“But that was – I mean, that wasn't really.” Harry stops again, his face twisting up like he's trying to find his words. “It was a planned thing, you know?”

No, Louis does not know. Not really. He can kind of guess, though. “Sure,” Louis says, clearing his throat. He's so dumb. “Fake relationship, right? To cover for her. Thing.” _Her being gay thing_ , he means, but he can't just say that, can he? Can he??

“Not just for her,” Harry says carefully, straightening up in his seat and removing his arm from around the back of Louis' headrest. “To cover for me, too. It was – it was mutual.”

Louis' stomach drops to somewhere around his shins and comes jolting back up. So. Harry's gay. Harry's _gay._ Or bisexual, maybe, but probably not, not if his _year long relationship_ with Taylor Swift was a _mutual cover._

Oh God. He's going to be sick.

“Oh,” Louis says, and promptly runs over a bump so large that they both get jerked out of their seats, whacking their heads on the ceiling.

_Fuck._

“God, oh my god,” Louis says, stopping the cart and holding a hand to his head. It comes back clean, no blood, so that's something, at least.

Harry's _gay._ Louis may be freaking out a bit.

“Oh my god,” he repeats. “I'm sorry, are you alright? I didn't mean to – I didn't see it. There must've been – I dunno – gophers maybe? I'm sorry. Oh my god.”

“Louis,” Harry says, reaching out to lay a hand on Louis' shoulder. Louis jerks back as if he's been burned.

Harry's expression shutters, his face going blank and his hand falling to his lap. He shifts away on the seat, and Louis can feel the disappointment radiating off of him. Fuck, he's seriously fucking this up.

“No, I mean,” Louis says, reaching for Harry and landing on his upper arm. He grabs hold and squeezes until Harry will meet his gaze.

“I'm sorry,” Louis says, “For the bump. And for the joke, I guess. But I'm not like –” He grimaces, trying to think of the best way to say it. How do you even say _sorry I'm a massive twat and happen to also be gay as a maypole_ with like, couth and tact?

“It's okay,” Harry says quickly. “I get it. It's a shock, I know. I didn't really – I never wanted to – I'm not like – I just thought you ought to know.”

“Thank you, I guess,” Louis says, frowning. He squeezes again, takes a deep breath. “But I just wanted to say – me too. I mean. I'm gay. Just. So you know.”

Harry looks at him for a moment. It stretches, tension creeping up Louis' spine until it feels like his whole body's rigid with it, and then Harry laughs, a little explosion of breath that devolves until he's slid most of the way down his seat.

Louis can only watch him for a moment, bewildered, before laughing as well.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Harry says eventually, gasping for breath. “I don't mean to laugh at you, but –” he dissolves into laughter again, pressing his face into his hands before he can get ahold of himself. “– Just, if you'd asked me eight years ago...”

“Same,” Louis says, taking a deep breath. “Same, mate.” No, he won't be mentioning the fact that it was around eight years ago that he finally started to realize it, thank you very much. He can save that for a later date.

“Excuse me,” a voice says behind them, making Louis jump. He turns to see a bloke with grey hair and pale blue golf shirt on, holding a set of clubs, and three blokes behind him. They all look a bit cross.

“Were you planning on ever playing this hole?”

Harry bursts into laughter again, and Louis has to hold back giggles as he answers. “Go ahead and play through, sorry,” he says, flailing a hand at Harry to get him to shut up. He feels eighteen again, sat in a stuffy classroom and trying to explain to a teacher why Harry's wheezing with laughter next to him. “Seriously, take all the time you need.”

“Thank you,” the man says stiffly, moving ahead of the cart to play the hole.

Next to him, Harry finally calms down, moving to sit in his seat properly. Louis watches the man and his friends play, chewing on his bottom lip as Harry settles, and glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

Harry looks back, and they both burst into laughter again.

They give up for the day after that. Louis drives them back to the clubhouse and drops Harry off at his fancy locker rooms, watching Harry struggle with his bag instead of offering to help, just like every other day.

Unlike every other day, however, Harry pauses before he leaves, giving Louis a shy sort of smile.

“Thanks again,” he says, and Louis can see his knuckles going white on the strap of his bag. Nervous, then. Louis feels inexplicably nervous himself. “Really.”

“It's no problem,” Louis says, and very kindly does not add in a comment about how he's literally being paid to be helpful.

Harry hesitates again, leaning forward slightly before, “And about what I told you –”

“No worries, Haz,” Louis says, waving a hand. “Your secret's safe with me. Promise.”

Harry looks at him, opens his mouth like he might say something else, but then closes it, nodding. “Right,” he says, “Same here. I mean, if yours is a secret. Anyway, thanks.”

“Sure,” Louis says, flashing him a grin. It's not a secret that he's gay, but he can't really think of anyone that Harry would need to keep it a secret from, per se. It's not as if they have many friends in common anymore. “Now get a move on, you're making me late.”

Harry smiles and straightens, giving Louis one last wave before making his way down the path to the clubhouse. Louis watches him go, taking a few deep breaths and exhaling them slowly.

So. Harry's gay. That certainly is a thing. 

\---

It's just. Louis is certain he would've noticed if Harry were gay before now. Even with a management and PR team controlling his image, Harry Styles has always been terrible at lying. Louis knows that's something that wouldn't change. So how could he have missed it?

He goes home and does what any other sane person would do. He gets on Google and searches _Harry Styles gay_ , hits enter and waits for the page to load.

There are more than twenty million results.

“Oh,” he says, because apparently he's been missing something pretty obvious. He scrolls down the page, past the recent news articles and a bunch of thumbnails for what look like fan videos, trying to decipher the links that lead to gossip articles and things that might actually help him figure out what he was missing.

He clicks one that leads to a blog with a bright layout, a picture on the side featuring Harry, obviously, practically deep throating a banana.

“Is this what you get up to onstage, Harry?” he mutters to himself, scrolling through post after post of Harry being ridiculous. Wearing tiaras and making faces at bras thrown at him, calling out dads and boyfriends at the front of his shows. He'd thought he'd been paying attention, but clearly he was wrong. Clearly.

He scrolls through a few pages before getting bored and moves on to the sidebar, scanning the links there. There's one titled “secret relationships” that he can't help but click.

The second the page loads, he wishes he hadn't.

The first post is one titled **HAZOFF, or, how harry and jeff cause me pain every day of my life** and includes a picture of the two of them together, in a classic Mercedes. There's a caption under the photo – “casually driving around in classic cars let mE DIE” – and then, “ _Read More_ ”.

Louis clicks that, too. It takes him to what he learns is a “masterpost” about Harry and Jeff's supposed relationship, how they've been together for almost half a year and how any time Harry's in LA it's to see Jeff, specifically.

 _Have these people never heard of friendship_ , Louis thinks, but then immediately regrets. It's hard not to be friends with Harry Styles and be half in love with him. Hell, you don't even have to be friends with him for that. Louis sighs at himself and clicks the back button, groaning when he sees the next one. **NARRY,** it reads, **or, why niall and harry are basically married.**

Louis rubs a hand down his face. It's going to be a long night.

\---

When Louis drags himself into work the next morning at ten, he's thankful that Harry isn't going to be back until next week. He isn't entirely sure he'd be able to look him in the eye, not after the things he's read.

After consuming ten pages of masterposts – there seemed to be one about Harry and every single person he's ever been in a room with – he's come to the conclusion that he doesn't stand any kind of chance. If Harry's not in fact dating Niall and/or Jeff, it's clear that his preferred date is tall and gorgeous and leggy and very decidedly _not_ Louis. Which is fine. It's not like Louis has ever been able to hold down a relationship for more than six months – though not from a lack of trying – and he's definitely not in any place to be paraded around like arm candy. He supposes he might clean up well enough, but Harry's not out, and besides, Louis doesn't much fancy getting mobbed wherever he goes.

He slides onto a stool at the bar, resting his head in his hand, waiting for Zayn to notice him. He feels someone take a seat behind him, startling a bit when their hand lands on his shoulder.

“Louis, long time no see,” Liam says, and Louis sags forward in relief. He's not sure who he thought it was, but Liam's always harmless. Mostly.

“Yes, Liam, I've heard that's what happens when you have a job,” Louis says, spinning around to face him. It's true, Louis hasn't seen him in awhile, especially since he spends most of his time out on the course with Harry and not goofing around in Liam's office all day. Maybe Liam misses him.

“Liam, love, do you miss me? You only had to say so,” he says, a smile stretching across his face.

“Please, I'm finally caught up on my paperwork,” Liam says, which obviously means yes, he's missed Louis terribly. Louis knows how to read subtext. “I hope Harry Styles never leaves.”

 _You and me both_ , Louis wants to say, but he pinches Liam in the ribs instead. Liam bats his hands away, which obviously turns into a slap fight that goes on until Zayn comes over and sprays them with water from the funny little drink hose. They both look up at him from the floor.

“You're making a scene,” he says, and Louis sticks his tongue out at him. Liam, on the other hand, seems properly abashed, his cheeks gone all pink. Of course, that may just be because Zayn's spoken to him. Liam's crush is obvious to almost everyone except Zayn, who's probably used to people turning into hot messes around him. He is rather beautiful.

“Sorry,” Liam mumbles, pushing Louis off of him – quite rudely, actually – and getting back on his stool. Louis slaps him in the calf before joining him, ordering his usual lunch from Zayn.

“So,” Louis says, drumming his fingers on the top of the bar. “What's got you out of the bat cave?”

“Just wanted to see how you were,” Liam says with a shrug, but he's also carefully not looking at Louis, which means he wants something from him. Louis knows. “And to see if you remembered.”

Louis frowns. “What, is it our anniversary? I thought we met in April.”

“Shut up,” Liam says, though there's not too much heat to it. “I meant Sunday night. Open mic.”

Fuck, right. Open mic at the bar in the city that Liam goes to all the time. Except he hasn't gone in months because he'd gotten laryngitis and couldn't sing for weeks. Louis offered to go with him for moral support, but he knows he'll end up singing by the end of the night as well.

“That's Sunday?” he says, trying to remember if he'd fucked up and planned anything else over it. He's fairly certain he hasn't. “I can still go, if you want. Haven't got any other plans.”

Liam smiles at him, clearly relieved, and claps a hand to his shoulder. “That'd be great, thanks Tommo.”

Zayn comes by with Louis' food just then, setting it on the bar in front of him, along with his drink. Louis takes a sip, shrugging.

“It's no problem, mate. I'll drive you?”

Liam nods, sliding off his stool, probably to return to his office. Louis feels a wave of guilt at the thought of how much time Liam spends in there alone, how he probably hasn't gone out nearly as much without Louis around to force him into it. He's a terrible friend. He'll have to fix that, then.

He pulls up to Liam's flat at half-eight on Sunday, his hair done up like it hasn't been in ages and wearing his best pair of skinny jeans. He honks the horn obnoxiously, grinning when Liam comes running out the door ten seconds later.

“Can't you just text like a normal person,” he says, settling himself into the passenger seat.

Louis rolls his eyes, pulls back out into the street. “Where's the fun in that, Payno?”

“Dunno, but it makes my neighbors like me more,” Liam says, flipping the mirror down to fuss with his hair.

“Neighbors are overrated,” Louis says sagely, reaching over to flip the mirror back up. “Your hair's fine. You'll ruin it if you keep messing with it.”

Liam pouts at him, but Louis flips him the bird.

He takes them to a small pub just inside the city. They've been here before, obviously, but it's been awhile and Louis can't remember it ever being this crowded. He has to park three streets away and then walk, which is terrible, obviously. Though he does suppose it'll give him a chance to sober up before driving home. Not that he plans on driving home drunk, or anything. Right.

They push their way inside the pub, Liam heading directly for the stage and Louis heading for the bar to get some pints. It's seriously packed, standing room only at the bar, definitely, and Louis curses the fact that he's shorter than average for what must be the ten millionth time in his life. He just wants a drink.

A space opens up and Louis squeezes himself in, waving an arm to get the barkeep's attention. He orders his pints and tries to block out the endless conversation around him, people nattering on about – well, Louis doesn't know, because he's not paying attention, but he's sure it's awful.

He makes his way up to the stage, relieved when he finds Liam at a table. He sits, sliding a pint toward Liam and taking a sip of his own.

“Cheers,” Liam says, tipping his head.

“Dunno why it's so packed in here,” Louis says, looking around. He hates to admit it, but it's making him nervous. He hasn't performed in front of a crowd like this for a long time. Probably never one this big, actually.

“Heard some bloke say that there's like, a celebrity who comes here sometimes.” Louis blinks, chest feeling tight until Liam says, “I think someone off Man U or something? Dunno. Could barely hear him.”

“Right,” Louis chokes out. Not Harry, then. Of course not Harry. Besides, Harry's in London. He'll be there until tomorrow. Or, at least very late tonight. “Well. Better to sing in front of more people than less, right?”

“Right,” Liam says with a nod. A woman walks up onstage and picks up the microphone, does a spiel about open mic nights that Louis doesn't pay attention to and calls Liam up to the stage. Louis cheers at that, clapping loudly as Liam makes his way.

“Hi,” Liam says, taking a seat on a stool and picking up a guitar that someone just left onstage. “I'm Liam Payne, and this is ’Bulletproof.’” Louis laughs as Liam starts it up, happy to see his friend relax and get a chance to do what he loves. Liam's been singing forever, Louis knows, and he's annoyingly good at it too, slipping into a falsetto almost effortlessly at the end of his song. The crowd applauds, and Louis hears some screams in the back, a few requests shouted out. Liam launches into his next song and Louis sits in front and lets himself enjoy it all.

It's not long before he hears his own name over the speakers, Liam grinning down at him.

“This here is my mate Louis,” he says, gesturing to the table. Louis rolls his eyes and waves, though he doubts anyone is really paying attention. “He's going to come up and join me for my last song.”

Louis rolls his eyes again as he makes his way up the stage, pulling a stool over to sit by Liam. Usually he has a keyboard or something to hide behind, but no such luck tonight. He takes a deep breath and squeezes his knees for a moment, until a waitress comes and brings him an additional microphone. He takes it, turning it on.

“Hello, it's lovely to be here,” he says, grinning at Liam, who pulls a face at him. “This last one is one you'll probably know, so we hope you like what we've done with it.”

He puts the microphone down and gestures to Liam, who starts playing the guitar. It's one of Harry's songs, actually, one of the hit singles from his first album. “Something Great” is the last track on the album, but must have been the second single released. Louis remembers, because he knows everyone thinks it's dedicated to Caroline Flack. There’s a common consensus that the whole album's dedicated to her, since it came out right after their public break up, and the dedication was a simple, ambiguous, _This is for you. All of it._

It had seemed pretty clear at the time, but given the new information, Louis has no idea who it could mean.

He pushes the thoughts from his mind as he sings his verse, alternating with Liam, who's actually much more suited to the song than Louis is. They've adjusted it a bit to make it a duet, but Louis has always thought Harry's music was more suited for more than one person. As if he were writing for a group, and not just himself.

In any case, he smiles and waves into the crowd as they give a little cheer at the end of his section. He does like how bigger crowds are usually more vocal. Unless, of course, they're yelling about how terrible he is. Then he sort of hates them. But, anyway, that's not happening.

They finish the song easily enough, Louis taking the last line, drawing it out a bit so his voice cracks. That's a bit embarrassing actually, but the crowd still claps for them as they exit the stage, so he doesn't feel too badly about it. Liam wraps an arm around his shoulders as they walk, hugging him close.

“Thanks for that, Louis, seriously,” he says, and Louis leans into him, giving his waist a good squeeze.

“No problem, Li. You know I love you.”

Liam beams at him, and then is promptly swept away by a gorgeous girl with dark hair who clearly wants to buy him a drink. Louis laughs a bit at that, because he's sure that girl wouldn't be interested if she knew about Liam's terrible crush on Zayn, but Liam's too nice to say no.

Louis stands at the bar waiting for the barkeep to notice him again when a hand grips his hip. Louis spins quickly, ready to elbow somebody in the throat, but freezes when he realizes it's Harry. God. Of course it's Harry, that's just his fucking luck.

“You greet everyone like that, or am I just special?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. He's sort of amazed no one's recognized Harry yet, though he does look different in an oversized jumper, with his hair pulled back.

“Both,” Harry says, leaning close. He must be drunk, or at least tipsy, because Harry's never stood this close to him, not in the few weeks Louis' been his caddy. “You sang my song,” he says, his hand going to Louis' waist this time, settling in the small of his back. It makes heat radiate up his spine, makes him want to push up and close the distance between them.

Louis tries to take a step back, but hits the bar. “Harry,” he murmurs, because he really doesn't want to make a scene for once in his life. “I thought you were coming back tomorrow.”

“Tonight,” Harry says, still leaning in, his touch still making Louis feel a bit dizzy. “Came back tonight. Golf tomorrow.”

“Yeah, golf tomorrow at the arse crack of dawn,” Louis says gently, laying a hand on Harry's arm. “Are you here with someone? You ought to get back to them.”

Harry shakes his head, tightens his grip. “No, not here with anyone, just with you.” Louis puffs out a laugh as Harry leans down to press their foreheads together. It's an echo of something they used to do a long time ago, when Harry wasn't a fucking beanpole and Louis wasn't stupidly in love with him. Well, _as_ stupidly in love with him, maybe. He doesn't understand why it's happening right now, in the middle of a crowded pub.

“We should get you home, Haz,” Louis says, patting Harry's bicep. Harry whines, crowds in closer, and Louis has to squeeze his eyes shut from the proximity, gripping Harry's arm so they don't fall over as Harry rests his weight on him.

“Missed you, Lou,” he mumbles, and Louis frowns.

“I'm right here,” he says, pulling back a bit to look Harry in the eye. “Alright? Right here. Now let's get you home.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry says, and slumps over onto Louis' shoulder. Louis struggles toward the door, spotting Liam next to the stage, still chatting with the dark-haired girl.

“Liam!” he hisses until Liam turns, his eyes widening at the sight of Harry draped over Louis' shoulder. “Come on, get over here!”

Liam hurries over, ignoring the girl – who seems a bit put off at it all, which Louis can't blame her for – and helps transfer Harry to his own shoulder.

“What the hell is going on?” he asks, but Louis shakes his head. The fewer people who notice them, the better, and all Louis can focus on right now is the number of people who've got their phones out.

“Come on, we've got to get him home,” Louis says, opening the door and pushing them into the cold night air.

“Louuuuu,” Harry whines, burrowing into Liam, who he doesn't actually seem to realize _isn't_ Louis, “I'm coooold.”

“We're all cold Hazza, suck it up,” he says, leading the way to his car. He doesn't even have time to be self-conscious about it when they get there. He knows it's shitty, Liam knows it's shitty, and now Harry will know. He's sure that Harry doesn't like, expect anything of him. But he's also not sure how he feels about that.

He opens the back door and shoves Harry inside. “Are you getting in or not, Liam?” he asks, since Liam's just been staring, dumbstruck, nearly the whole time. He walks around to the driver's side and gets in, starting the car and trying not to look at Harry, who's laid out over his back seat and staring at the ceiling.

Liam gets in, and neither of them say anything as Louis pulls out to drive them home.

“Don't vomit in my car, Styles,” Louis says as Harry shifts back and forth in his rearview.

“Won't,” Harry mumbles, and stills.

“Think he's passed out,” Liam says after a moment, reaching behind himself to grab at Harry's ankle. “Can still feel a pulse though, so that's good.”

“Thank god for your first aid course,” Louis mutters, and continues to drive.

He drops Liam off first, insisting that yes, he'll be fine to take Harry home alone, and yes, he'll be sure not to have any accidents and no, Liam, he does not plan on staying the night at a popstar's flat. Harry pops his head up once Liam's closed the door, one of his long arms wrapping around the seat to settle over Louis' waist.

“Take me to yours,” he says, and Louis has to take a deep breath to stifle the pounding of his heart in his chest.

“You're not coming to mine, you'll wake up Zayn,” Louis says, sees Harry pout in the mirror.

“Please?”

“Harry, tell me where you live,” he says, turning his head to look at him. Harry rests his chin on the back of the seat, face so, so close to Louis'. It would be so easy to kiss him.

“No,” Harry says, and his breath reeks of rum. Louis' not sure how he didn't notice before. “Don't want to go home.”

Louis sighs. “Fine,” he says, kicking the car into drive, “but don't say I didn't warn you.”

Harry's only reply is a lazy smile.

\---

All things considered, hauling a drunk Harry Styles up three narrow flights of stairs isn't really how Louis envisioned spending his evening. He doesn't weigh much, at least not proportionately, Louis supposes, but he's so tall, is the thing. A good three inches over Louis when he hasn't got his boots with a heel on, which he does, obviously, and he's clumsy as a newborn lamb. So, getting up the stairs is a bit of a struggle.

“Louuuuu,” he whines, pressing his face into Louis' hair, getting his rum breath all over it and probably mussing it up. What a menace.

“Harryyyyyyyy,” Louis responds, because he is nothing if not predictable.

“You sang my song,” he says, nuzzling into Louis and making them both tip over into the wall. Pain flares up in Louis' elbow. That'll be a bruise tomorrow.

“I did,” Louis grits out, trying to right them. Harry keeps leaning into him, though, so he's sort of pinned against the wall. Generally speaking, he wouldn't be against Harry pinning him to the wall, but this is awful and completely unsexy. “Could you please walk,” he says, giving him a shove.

Harry, pliant and loose, goes flying into the other wall. The shove hadn't been that hard, but Harry's face still crumples, like a child who's just fallen and skinned their knees.

“Shit,” Louis murmurs, crossing the space and putting his hands on Harry's waist. “Come on, Hazza, you're alright.”

Harry sags into him again, and they continue up the stairs. “M'tired, Lou.”

“Yeah, I know,” Louis says as they finally reach the third floor. “I am too.”

They make their way down the hall and Louis digs through his pocket for his keys.

“Sorry for all of this,” Harry says, leaning against the wall while Louis unlocks his door.

“Yeah, well, sorry for the state of my life,” Louis answers, ushering him in. The flat's not a complete tip, mostly because Louis had cleaned it a few days ago in a fit of energy with his newly found spare time. There's shoes piled by the door and a few take out boxes on the table, but other than that, it's fairly clean. Cleaner than usual, anyway. Louis leads Harry through and to his bedroom. There's no noise or light behind Zayn's door, so he must be out still, which means there won't be anyone here in the morning to judge him and Harry except themselves. That's a silver lining, at least.

“Alright, just in here,” Louis says, guiding him through the door and down onto the bed. It's messy, unmade and the sheets probably haven't been changed for awhile, but. Louis doesn't get much action, so they're probably not like, disgusting. Besides, Harry's the one who refused to go home.

Harry flops down onto the bed, sprawling on his back, fully clothed, but looking like he could easily fall asleep.

“Take your shoes off, you animal,” Louis says, shucking his own coat and throwing it over the back of his desk chair. He watches Harry sit up and struggle with his boots, kicking them off and then working himself out of his coat. Louis takes it from him, hanging it over the back of the chair, and turns away as he unbuttons his jeans, sliding them down his legs. This is how he usually sleeps, and it's not – Harry's invading his space, so he'll have to deal with it. He can sleep on the floor if he doesn't like it.

He shouldn't be as surprised as he is to find Harry's jeans crumpled on the floor when he turns around, Harry himself having snuggled under the covers already.

“Smells like you,” he murmurs, so quietly that Louis almost doesn't hear him. He pretends he didn't, though, because what's he supposed to say to that? How is he even supposed to say anything with the way his throat's gone tight?

Louis turns off the light and settles into the bed, curling up on his side, his back to Harry. He can still feel him, though. A warm, heavy presence just behind him making the bit of matress between them seeming endless and too small all at once.

Fingertips graze his back, a light touch, making him tense up. “Goodnight, Lou,” Harry murmurs, withdrawing his hand, and Louis lets out a long breath.

He closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep.

\---

_The pool is clear and calm, the only light coming from under the water. Louis stands at the edge, shivering, though it's not even cold out. It's warm, warm like everything is when he's around Harry. He looks over, crossing his arms over his chest, and Harry smiles at him, beautiful sixteen-year-old Harry with baby fat and ringlets and his fucking angel face. Louis' breath catches in his chest and he looks back at the pool._

_He's going to jump in. He'd jump off a bridge if Harry suggested it. That can't be healthy, can it?_

_“Ready?” Harry asks, offering his hand. Louis looks at it for a moment, slowly reaches out to take it._

_“This is a very dumb idea,” he says. Someone should point it out._

_Harry shrugs, grinning. He looks out at the pool, the light of it reflecting on his face. His hand is warm and sure in Louis' and true, jumping into a pool in the middle of the night is hardly the most dangerous thing he's ever done, but it feels bigger somehow, in a way that Louis doesn't have the words for. It's just a feeling. It's always a feeling with Harry._

_“On three,” Louis says, and feels Harry's hand squeeze his own._

Louis jerks awake to the sound of his alarm, sitting upright in bed, chest heaving.

Fuck, _fuck._ He's really got to stop having dreams about Harry, especially when he's just spent the night. Which, oh God – Louis looks and yes, there's Harry on the bed next to him, sleeping peacefully, his face completely relaxed snuggled into Louis' pillows. He looks just how Louis remembers him, young and untouchable, but when Louis blinks, he can see the lines that have started to form on Harry's forehead, around his mouth. Laugh lines and worry lines, from a life full of joy and a life full of too much stress for someone his age.

Louis reaches out, ever so gently pushes a curl across his forehead, drawing his hand back when Harry's face flickers awake.

Louis makes sure he's sitting on the edge of the bed by the time Harry's opened his eyes.

“Breakfast?” he asks, and behind him, Harry clears his throat.

“Please,” he croaks out, and Louis nods, getting himself out of the room before he has to watch sleep-soft Harry Styles attempt to dress himself.

\---

Harry comes into the kitchen a few minutes later fully clothed with his jacket hanging over his arm. He takes a seat at Louis' rickety kitchen table and smiles gratefully at him when Louis slides a steaming mug of tea toward him.

“Honey, still?” Louis asks, and Harry looks at him a moment, like he's looking _for_ something. He must find it, because he nods, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah. Can't believe you remembered.”

Louis shrugs. “It's an important thing to know about someone,” he says, though he's not quite sure what he means.

“My assistant can't even remember it more than half the time,” Harry laughs. Louis gives a weak _ha_ , but it sounds more like a wheeze. He's just. Not sure what to say.

“Better get a move on, if you want to make your tee time,” he decides on, snorting at the groan Harry lets out.

“Why do you let me schedule these so early?” he asks, muffled from the way his face is pressed to the table top.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “I wasn't aware I had any say in it.”

Harry lifts his head to frown at him. “Of course you do. You're my guest.”

Louis snorts before he can stop himself and says, none too gently, “Harry, you pay me to play golf with you.”

Harry sits up at that, shoulders tense, and Louis hadn't meant to do that. “You don't have to play with me,” he says, and he should sound angry, because Louis has, by all rights, just insulted him. Instead he just sounds sad. Louis hates that. He never could handle a sad Harry very well.

“I like playing with you,” Louis sighs, cringing a bit at the unfortunate wording. “Do you really think I would if I didn't?”

He can see the way Harry's throat works as he swallows, the line of his shoulders move as he shrugs. Suddenly, Louis can imagine how eight years of being around people who don't really know you might take its toll. How difficult it must be to have no one who knows you at your worst and still wants to be your friend. How difficult it must be to have people who want to be you friend of their own accord, and aren't just in it for the perks, and how difficult it must be to differentiate between the two.

“I'm not sure,” Harry says finally, and Louis can't even be insulted about it.

“Well, I wouldn't,” he says, taking the seat across from Harry at the table, kicking Harry's shin under the table until he makes eye contact. “I'm serious. I don't give a fuck how famous you are, you're not making me do something I don't want to.”

It takes a long moment of Louis holding Harry's gaze and silently willing him to trust him, but finally Harry's mouth stretches into a tentative smile, his teeth catching over his bottom lip.

“Thanks,” he says, picking up his mug. Louis shrugs like it's nothing, because it's not. If Harry needs him to be a friend, that's what he can be. That's what he always was. Should be easy.

\---

They're on the ninth hole two days later when Harry makes a par three in just two smooth shots. He lets out a cheer, pumping an arm in the air as if he's scored the winning goal at a football match, not just made a ball go into a hole from very far away. Louis half expects streamers to explode out of the ground in celebration before he remembers that they are not, in fact, at one of those cheesy putt-putt courses like in the films.

Louis had taken his turn, finally having gotten his own set of clubs – much more suited to his height than Harry's – and hit the ball a fair distance, just at the edge of the green. He's getting better, definitely, though he's not sure of any other time that he'll ever need to play golf. Or want to, actually.

He knows, eventually, that this will end. Harry will leave, go back to London and LA and New York to do his thing, make his music, and Louis will still be here, catering to rich people and regretting almost every decision he made as a teenager. That's just how the world works.

He moves to his ball, getting it in the hole in seven strokes. Not the best, but not terrible. His short game is really lacking. 

Christ, he’s started talking like a _golfer._ Kill him, please, someone. 

“Good shot,” Harry says, and it's nice enough, but Louis can hear the smug note in it. There's no way Louis can stand for that. He puts his hands on his hips, facing Harry fully.

“Oh what, you get one birdie and think you're Tiger Woods?”

The words come out of Louis' mouth and the next thing he knows, Harry's pressed against him, giant yeti hands holding his face as he kisses him. His mouth is soft and insistent, his hands warm where they cradle his face. Louis feels a bit overwrought with it all, feels like he's been squeezed in between two rollers and been stretched thin and flat. Kissing Harry is all he's ever wanted for years, but now that it's happening he doesn't really know what to do. Except kiss back, obviously.

Harry pulls back, breath coming out in heavy pants, and Louis forces himself to breathe in through his nose. Harry's mouth is spit-shiny and dark pink, and Louis wants to kiss him until it's red.

“What was that for?” he asks, and does not kiss Harry again. It’s important that he doesn’t, probably. Maybe. 

“You knew it was a birdie,” Harry says, grinning. As if Louis figuring out what completing a hole one stroke under par is called is really worth that much celebration. Louis supposes he shouldn’t think too much about it. 

“Didn't realize this was a reward-based training program,” he says, because he can't think of anything else to say. Can never go wrong with a joke. “Would've studied sooner if I'd known.”

Harry laughs, loud and bright like he hasn't been since Louis knew him eight years ago, and Louis can't help but grin. He's not entirely sure how kissing works into being a good friend to Harry, but maybe – well, maybe that's the sort of friend Harry is. Maybe it's just something that comes along with friendship with him. Louis certainly isn't going to complain, if it is. He'll take what he can get while he can. He won't have Harry forever, he knows.

Louis drives them to the next hole, letting Harry set up for his shot first, as per the sacred rules of golf courtesy. They play through it in relative silence, getting back into the cart and moving on to the next hole. He knows this course better than he knows the layout of his own flat, could drive it with his eyes closed, but he feels awkward now, can't very well make eye contact with Harry, who hasn't said anything since their kiss.

He stops the cart at the hole, moving to get out, stilling when he feels Harry's hand on his arm.

“That was okay, right?” Harry asks, gnawing at his lower lip. Louis blinks.

“Yeah,” he says, then clears his throat and repeats, “Yeah, it was fine.”

“I just didn't want to overstep,” Harry says, still a bit twitchy. Louis sighs and turns in his seat to face him.

“Haz, what did I say the other morning?”

Harry frowns. “Um. That only pretentious arseholes prefer a real newspaper to just reading it online?”

“Well, yes,” Louis says impatiently, rolling his eyes, “but I meant. Look. I'll tell you if something happens that I don't like, alright? I promise.”

“Alright,” Harry says, looking only slightly mollified. Louis sighs, exasperated, and leans forward, grabs the collar of Harry's stupid shirt, and kisses him. He means for it to be quick, but Harry's hand wraps around the back of Louis' neck before he can pull away and turns it soft, unhurried. Louis puts his hand to Harry's jaw, thumb sliding over his cheek, and breathes out an involuntary sigh when Harry finally pulls back.

“Okay?” Louis asks. Harry nods, kissing him again quickly before getting out of the cart to go play the round. Louis sits for a moment longer, taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly. He's not sure how he'll be expected to concentrate with the memory of Harry kissing him playing over and over in his mind.

He ends the game thirty over par, but it's still the best he's ever done.

\---

“You sang my song the other night,” Harry says a few days later, when they're shoved in a maintenance closet at the club. Harry had shown up in tighter trousers than usual and his shirt molded to his body in an obscene way. Louis knows it must've been on purpose, so he'd pushed him through the nearest door and kissed him. Harry hadn't protested, and still hasn't protested, even though Louis' hands have been gradually sneaking up the hem of his shirt for the past five minutes.

“I did,” Louis says, his hands sliding up the bare skin of Harry's sides and digging in as he leans up for another kiss. “It's a good song.”

“Thank you,” Harry says with a laugh, putting his hands to Louis' hips and steering him back until he hits the shelf, rattling whatever's on them. As long as Louis doesn't get bleach dumped on his head, he's fine. “I liked your version better.”

Louis hums out a noise and stretches up again, wrapping an arm around Harry's neck to drag him down. Kissing Harry is addictive, he's found. Not that he thought it wouldn't be, but he supposes he hadn't imagined just how good it would feel to have Harry pressed against him and making needy little noises into his mouth. 

“Seriously, Louis,” Harry pants out, one of his hands on Louis' chest, probably keeping him from attacking Harry's mouth again. It's just as well; if they go any further, Louis might have to find a new pair of khakis, and that would just be embarrassing. “I want you to teach it to me.”

Louis stares at him, tears his gaze away from Harry's red-bitten mouth and up to his eyes, bright and honest.

“Fuck off,” he says, pinching Harry's side. Like ultimate popstar Harry Styles needs to be taught anything by Louis. Please. Harry catches his hand, brings it up to his mouth and kisses his fingertips. Louis resists the urge to slide two of them in and make Harry suck on them, but God does he want to.

“I'm serious,” Harry murmurs, leaning close again, lips brushing over Louis' cheek. “I want you to teach it to me.”

“Yeah, alright,” Louis agrees, like he wouldn't still jump off a bridge if Harry asked him. Harry smiles against his mouth like he knows.

\--- 

Louis pulls up to Harry's house and parks his shitty car right in front of it. It's got one of those driveways shaped like a circle, and Harry's giant black Range Rover is parked a little to the side, so really Louis' just following Harry's lead and obviously not being inconsiderate at all. Whatever. It doesn't matter.

He gets out of the car, making his way to the door and taking in Harry's home. It's smaller than he imagined it would be, but still sizable. The hedges are well kept, the flowers out front blooming in bright colors and the grass neatly mown. He has a flash of a memory: Harry on a large riding lawn mower, laughing his head off and unable to find the brake. He'd found the fence first.

Louis shakes the memory out of his head and rings the bell, giving Harry a grin when he comes to the door, looking breathless and pleased.

“No valet parking, Styles? I'm disappointed,” he says, laughing, as Harry tugs him inside, pressing him up against the door. Louis winds his arms around Harry's neck, grappling at his shoulders as Harry lifts him, Louis' legs going around his waist instantly.

“I'll have to make that up to you,” Harry says, and Louis laughs, closing the distance between them for a kiss.

From there, it's a dangerous journey to the nearest flat surface, which turns out to be Harry's fancy leather couch. He plops Louis down on it and follows, pressing him back into the cushions as he kisses him. Louis' legs have slipped down to Harry's hips, and he bends one, pulling Harry in closer to grind up against him. This isn't why he came over – Harry mentioned something about music and a home-cooked meal, and Louis couldn't resist – but he's definitely not going to turn it down, especially not with the way Harry’s groaning and rocking his hips harder against him.

Louis can feel Harry hard in his jeans, and he lets his hand fall, rubbing a hand over him. Harry lets out a whine as his hips jerk and he pulls back, cheeks flushed and eyes wild.

“Wanna blow you,” he says, and Louis swears his brain turns to mush. “That okay?”

“Please,” Louis says. He runs his hands up Harry's sides, pulling off his shirt and pinching at his nipples because he's got a feeling Harry will like it. He does, if the way his back arches into Louis' hands means anything at all. Louis grins, satisfied, and leans up to kiss him again. It doesn't last long, not with Harry pulling away to slide onto his knees on the floor, kneeling in front of Louis. He lets out a breath at the sight, brings a hand up to Harry's curls and tangles it in there.

“Impatient,” Harry mutters, but he's smiling like he's pleased as punch. His hands go to Louis' flies, undoing them deftly and peeling his jeans down his legs, taking his pants with them. It leaves Louis half-naked on the couch, leather cool against his bum and his dick aching at the thought of Harry's mouth around him. Harry sits on his knees for a moment and stares, gaze raking up Louis' body and making him flush.

Louis nudges him in the hip with his foot, cheeks burning. “Get on with it.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, shuffling closer, his big hands on Louis' thighs, spreading them wide. He runs his thumb over the crease of Louis' hip, still just staring. He seems hesitant, which is fine, they don't have to do this, and Louis opens his mouth to tell him as much, but Harry decides then to wrap a hand around the base and take the head into his mouth, so all that comes out is a strangled moan.

Harry smirks around him, pulls off and licks his lips before taking Louis into his mouth again. Louis' hips buck, but Harry's got him pinned so he can't move and fuck, that makes him flush again, body going hot at the thought of being at Harry's mercy. Harry starts moving in a rhythm, his hand bobbing in time with his head, his tongue swirling at the underside of Louis' cock with every other movement up.

It's fucking brilliant, what with Harry's mouth being tight wet heat and his hair the perfect length for Louis to hold on to. Harry's fingers dig into Louis' hips to keep him still, but Louis can't help the way his thighs clench up anytime Harry's tongue does something good.

Harry pulls off and Louis whines – he's so close, _God_ , – at Harry jerking him off with quick strokes, catching his breath.

“Good?” he asks, twisting just over the head, making Louis shudder with it.

“Fuck you,” Louis says, and Harry grins at him, pulling back Louis' foreskin to tongue at his slit.

“Maybe later,” Harry says and swallows him down again.

Louis comes not two minutes later, hand fisted in Harry's curls, thighs shaking from trying not to buck into Harry's mouth. Harry pulls off, resting his head against Louis' hip for a moment.

“God,” Louis breathes, “Fuck, you're good at that.” He can feel Harry smirk against him.

“I've had a lot of practice,” Harry says with a laugh, but Louis frowns. He doesn't want to think about anyone (or, everyone, rather) Harry's ever fucked right after getting a blowjob from him. Christ, why would he? He tugs Harry up, his free hand going to Harry's flies and unbuttoning them, not even bothering to pull them down before shoving his hand in to wrap around Harry's cock.

“You like that, yeah?” Louis murmurs, using his thumb to smear around the precome that's gathered at the head. His other hand tightens in Harry's hair, maneuvering him so Louis can straddle Harry's thighs, working him over with practiced strokes.

Harry looks up at him, mouth red and swollen, eyes glazed and completely trusting and Louis thinks, ridiculously, _mine._

He leans down to kiss Harry hard, teeth digging into his bottom lip, making him groan as he speeds up the hand on Harry's dick. He kisses down his neck and up his jaw, bites at his earlobe and settles at the hinge of his jaw, sucking a mark into the skin.

Harry's body tenses as he comes all over Louis' hand and his shirt and his own stomach. Louis lets him go, grabs his face and kisses him properly, until Harry's stopped shaking with aftershocks. He sits up, wiping his messy hand on Harry's jeans and removing his own shirt to wipe up the mess on Harry's stomach. He helps Harry pull off his jeans, leaving them on the floor as he lays across him. Harry reaches up, pulling a blanket down to cover the both of them.

“You owe me a meal, Styles,” Louis murmurs, settling down onto Harry's chest. Harry only laughs, a low sound that reverberates against Louis' cheek.

“After a nap,” Harry says, stroking a hand through Louis' hair. Louis hums out an agreement and shuts his eyes, letting the strong beat of Harry's heart lull him into sleep. 

\---

_“One,” Louis says, looking out at the pool, a shiver going up his spine at the eerie sort of glow of it. Harry’s hand is warm and firm in his own, though, and he squeezes._

_“One,” Harry repeats, and Louis looks over at him. He’s smiling, the strange angle of the light of the pool distorting his face a bit, but he’s still beautiful. Louis isn’t sure how that’s possible. Harry looks away, over the water._

_“Two,” Louis says, watching his profile._

\---

Louis wakes with a start, sitting up quickly, his hands slapping against Harry’s bare chest. Harry groans and rolls over and Louis falls to the ground, breathing heavily. 

“Go away, Jeff,” he mutters, and Louis’ blood turns to ice. Why would he say that? How often does he wake up with Jeff? How often does he wake up like this at all? 

Louis lets out a puff of breath, frozen for a moment before scrambling for his pants and jeans, tugging them on as quietly as possible, trying not to wake Harry. It’s only a few moments, but Harry makes a sound when Louis stands, eyes flicking open briefly before closing again. 

He can see the moment Harry realizes, how his sleep-slack face scrunches up and he sits up, suddenly awake. “Louis,” he says, the blanket falling around his waist. “Alright?” 

“Fine,” he says, “It’s getting late.” It’s not, really. It’s probably only mid-afternoon, but Louis doesn’t much fancy spending the rest of the day with a bloke who can’t remember his name. “So, if all you wanted was sex,” he trails off, looking away at Harry’s frown. He grabs his shirt off the floor. It’s stained, but he’s not planning on going anywhere except his flat. He can deal with it. 

“Hey,” Harry says, wrapping a hand around Louis’ wrist. “I’m sorry. I, um, Jeff, like. He wakes me up like that. With like, slaps, and stuff.” 

Christ, Jeff is an arse. But still. “Sorry,” Louis says tensely. 

“No, it’s,” Harry sighs. “ _I’m_ sorry. I just got like, confused. Don’t leave.” 

Louis takes one look at his pleading face, eyes still a bit puffy with sleep, and feels all his tension leak out of him. “Yeah, alright,” he says softly, turning his hand to catch Harry’s. “But I’m hungry.” 

Harry laughs, tugging him down. 

“I guess something can be done about that, then,” he says, kissing him. It’s not exactly what Louis had in mind, but maybe eating can wait. 

\---

Harry makes them a late lunch of frozen pizza -- “Seriously, Haz? I could’ve done that.” “Fuck off.” -- and a small salad. They eat their fill and Harry leads him to a door he hadn’t noticed before, one that reveals a staircase going down once Harry opens it. 

“You’re not going to murder me or anything, are you?” Louis asks, stepping cautiously down the stairs until he gets to the basement. 

“Nah,” Harry says, flicking on the light, “Wouldn’t want to get blood on the equipment.” 

Louis blinks at the sight of it, a mini-recording studio down in Harry’s basement, and baffles at the amount of money Harry must have. He wonders vaguely if all his houses have one, or if it’s just something for up here. 

It’s split into two sections. One is clearly the recording part, a strange little section of the room having been enclosed by a wall that’s half glass. There’s a microphone in there, some headphones, a stool and a guitar. What looks like an electronic keyboard is settled against the wall with its cover on, and the other side of the wall holds a large desk with a mixing board on it. Louis looks away from it, because he knows if he stares too long he’ll want to mess up all the little knobs. It’s a problem, really. 

The other section of the basement holds an upright piano, nestled against the wall. There’s a few more stools, some cushy looking chairs and a few guitars littered around. There’s also a huge shelf of what looks like recording equipment; headphones, smaller mixing boards, amps, pedals for the amps and guitars. 

“I can see why you’d want to protect your investment,” Louis says, making Harry chuckle. 

“Um, you can sit wherever you’d like,” Harry says a bit awkwardly, so Louis grins at him and takes a seat at the piano. He runs his fingers over the smooth keys, smiling a bit to himself before starting off with _Fur Elise,_ just to be annoying. He switches into a song by The Fray easily, humming along with the melody. 

“I didn’t know you played piano,” Harry says, sliding onto the bench beside him. There’s not much room, obviously, so they end up pressed together from shoulder to thigh. 

“Taught myself how,” Louis says with a shrug and doesn’t say, _it’s not like I had anything better to do without my best friend._

“You’re amazing,” Harry says, like it’s a simple fact and like it doesn’t make Louis’ stomach quiver. “You’ve always been, you know that?” 

“Of course I do,” Louis says, rolling his eyes, hoping he doesn’t give himself away. 

“Teach me the song, please,” Harry requests, voice sweet and soft. Louis smiles at him, puts his fingers on the keys and begins to play. 

\---

Later, once Harry’s learned the new arrangement and convinced Louis to record the both of them singing it, he asks Louis if he wants a copy to keep. 

“What? Why?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Harry shrugs. “Dunno. Thought you might, is all.” 

“Nah, you keep it, then, since you were so keen on it. Do whatever with it.” 

“Really?” Harry asks, eyes glinting with something. “You’re sure.” 

“Yeah, Haz,” Louis responds, “Do whatever you want with it.” 

\---

Harry goes to Los Angeles the next week for work, or something, and doesn't know how long he'll be gone. He leaves Louis his number and actual work to do at the club. Well, Harry doesn't assign him the work or anything – doesn't actually have that power, in fact – but Liam does.

Which is how Louis ends up pushing himself from one end of Liam's office to the other over and over again in a rolling chair.

“Liammmmm,” he says, coming to a stop in front of Liam's desk, hanging his head dramatically over the back of the chair. “I'm bored.”

“You're welcome to help me with this,” Liam says drily, not looking away from his computer screen.

“No, boring,” he says as his phone buzzes in his pocket. It's probably Harry texting him. He's been doing that on and off since he left three days ago, and Louis has been trying to limit his replies. He doesn't want to seem to needy, even though he misses Harry more than he thought he would. He'll check it later.

“Well, I haven't got anything for you to do that you'll actually do,” Liam sighs, rubbing at his forehead. He looks like he's got a headache, which must be from the way he stares at the computer all day. It's terrible for your eyes, Louis knows. “So just, I dunno, go annoy Zayn or something.”

Louis scoffs, “First of all, rude, trying to pass me off to someone else. Second, I can't. Zayn's banned me from the bar.”

Liam sighs. “Then why don't you take a day or two? Have a nice vacation. You've got some sick days, haven't you?”

“Dunno,” Louis shrugs, “Maybe. Probably? Can't you check that kind of thing?”

“Just a moment,” Liam says, clicking around on his screen with a revived fervor. It takes a few long moments but Liam finally makes a pleased noise, which Louis takes to mean that he's found the file that lets him know how many sick days everyone's got.

“Look at that, you've got three,” Liam says, typing a few things into the computer. Louis is fairly certain he hasn't got any, because he was out for a week a month into it when his sister took ill and his mum needed his help taking care of her.

“Liam, are you playing the system?”

“Shhhh,” Liam shakes his head. “Don't speak. Just go.”

Louis takes one look around the office, considers the possibility of staying here for another four hours and bolts. 

It’s not until much later that Louis checks his messages, after he’s had a nice long nap. It’s seven at night when he finally remembers that he’d gotten one, so he flicks his phone to life. 

_can I really do what I want with this recording? xx._ Harry’s text reads, and Louis has trouble remembering what he’s even talking about. 

**can’t imagine what you’d want to do with it, but yeah. it’s your song.**

_but your arrangement_ , Harry replies so quickly that it makes Louis wonder whether he’s been sitting and waiting for Louis to reply. Nah, probably not. Harry must be busy, it’s ridiculous to think that he’s just waiting around for an answer from Louis.

 **really it’s fine. do whatever.**

_thanks. talk soon? xx._

_Isn’t that what we’re doing_ , Louis wants to ask, but knows it wouldn’t go over well. He doesn’t reply, mostly because he hasn’t got anything interesting to say and doesn’t much feel like feigning enthusiasm for any of Harry’s ridiculous stories. 

He tosses his phone on his coffee table and goes into the kitchen to find something to eat. 

\---

Louis doesn’t hear from Harry again until three days later, when he gets another text. He’s in the restaurant this time, working with Zayn, who’s finally unbanned him. Probably because they’re swamped, which is mostly due to the heightened interest everyone’s seemed to have taken in the club. The things a few pap shots of a pop star will do for a business model never fails to astound Louis. 

He’s just setting someone’s drink in front of them when his pocket buzzes. He’s been getting messages on and off all day: from Liam, who’s freaking out over the extra paperwork he’s had to start doing to accommodate all the new guests, and from his mum and sisters, who saw one of the pap photos of Harry that had Louis, blurry in the background on the cart. Suffice to say, they aren’t pleased that Louis failed to mention that he’d “reconnected” with Harry. Louis has been ignoring them the best he can. He smiles pleasantly at his table when he’s set the drinks down, flips his drink tray under his arm and pulls out his order pad. 

“Are you ready, or should I come back?” 

“Think we’re ready now, dear,” the woman directly to Louis’ left says. She’s got graying hair that’s perfectly curled above her shoulders. Her earrings are probably real diamonds, and her Adidas tennis gear looks brand new. Her eyes are kind, though, and she’s looking directly at Louis, acknowledging his presence in a way most of the patrons here don’t. He lets his smile soften, tilting toward her a bit. 

“I’m all yours then,” he says, and the woman’s answering smile is probably enough to get him through the rest of the day. 

He takes the order and brings it up to the front, entering it into the register so it’ll get sent back to the kitchen. Zayn nudges him in the hip once he’s turned around, gestures to the end of the bar with a nod of his head. 

“Family down there asking for you,” Zayn says, grabbing a glass and moving to fill it. Louis frowns. He’s fairly certain he hasn’t fucked anything up for anyone in the past few days, but he also can’t imagine someone specifically requesting him to wait on them. Maybe he is more charming than he originally thought. 

He makes his way to the end of the bar, pulling out his notebook as he goes. His pen comes with it, clattering to the floor just as he reaches the end. 

“Just a moment,” he says, stooping to grab it, standing straight again with a bit of a laugh. “Sorry about that, what can I --” 

He falters as he takes in the family in front of him. Sure, he hasn’t seen them in a while, but it’d be impossible to miss the family resemblance. 

“Anne,” he says, a bit dumbstruck, blinking at the sight of her and Gemma, who are both looking at him with smiles on their faces, and he realizes they most definitely planned this, the sneaks. “Gemma, gone blonde, I see.” 

“Louis,” she says, the twist to her mouth suggesting she’s trying not to laugh, “Long time no see.” 

Louis swallows, a strange feeling overcoming him. It wasn’t only Harry who left him eight years ago, it was the whole family. Louis hadn’t been anywhere near as close with Gemma as he was Harry, but they were still friends. They would study together and team up to prank Harry on Halloween. Anne used to set him a place at the table without even asking. Robin would watch football with him and Harry on the weekends. He feels the loss all at once, dizzy with it for a moment before he clears his throat. 

“Suppose so,” he says finally, lightly, forcing a smile onto his face. “Ready to order?” 

He can see the way their expressions dim, like that hadn’t been the reunion they were hoping for, but Louis doesn’t know how to give them what they want. He knows it can’t be a coincidence that they’re here, but he also can’t instantly forgive them for leaving. He’s never been good at that. 

He takes their order and enters it into the system, and if he tells Zayn to make sure they get their food because he might not get to it, well, it’s only because he’s swamped with tables. It’s understandable, really. 

**just saw your mum and sister** he sends to Harry whilst on his lunch break, without bothering to check whatever got sent earlier.

_yeah, told you they were going to stay at mine didn't I?_

Louis frowns. Maybe Harry had, but he can't remember it and he's not going to search through the backlog of messages.

 **suppose so** , he sends, and then, **dunno why'd they come to the club though**

_I may have told them the service was impeccable ;)_

Louis rolls his eyes. **thanks for that. Not like we're not swamped anyway with people trying to get a glimpse of you**

_sorry_

_but are you coming or not?_

Louis has no idea what he's talking about, so that must mean that he's missed something. He scrolls up in his messages, stopping when he finds the one that must've been sent while he was at work.

_having a get together when I get back. Come? xx._

**sure** , he types out, chewing on his lip. He's tempted to ask who else will be there, but he doesn't want to be That Guy, the one who only wants to go to parties if famous people will be there. **give me info when you can.**

\---

Louis parks his car on the street outside of Harry's driveway and walks up the length of it, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat to keep him warm. He still isn't sure how many people Harry invited, and he doesn't want to block in someone's Porsche or something. Or risk scratching a car worth more than his whole life.

He can see lights on through the windows as he approaches, and he stands awkwardly in front of the door before ringing the bell. He hears some noise inside, sees a shadowy shape approaching through the glass and straightens a bit, plastering a smile on his face. He's excited to see Harry, he really is. That's not the issue. The issue is a group of people potentially making him look and feel like an idiot.

The door opens and Louis brings a hand up to run through his hair. It freezes halfway down his head when the door's fully opened.

“So, you're one of Harry's?” Taylor _fucking_ Swift says, and Louis blinks. Why is she _here_? If she's here, why is Louis here?

“I suppose,” he says, and it comes out a bit more distant than he wanted, but, – God. Taylor Swift.

She smiles at him, all teeth, and twists in the doorway to yell Harry's name. “Come on in,” she says, widening the door to let him through. Louis steps in, hands still in his pockets, trying not to look her directly in the eye. How close are she and Harry? She obviously knows he’s gay, but do they still talk? Are they friends? Does Harry tell her about what he gets up to with Louis? Is Louis even worth mentioning to someone like Taylor Swift? 

“Louis,” Harry says, and Louis’ eyes snap to him instantly, relieved. He’s leaning against the doorway into the sitting room, dressed in his skinny jeans and a soft looking jumper. Louis wants to step into his warmth and never leave. 

“You’re Louis, huh?” Taylor says, looking between them curiously. 

“I am,” Louis answers, because it seems rude not to. He really doesn’t have anything against her. At least, not now that he knows her relationship with Harry was fake. “You’re not going to write a song about me or anything, are you?” 

Taylor laughs, a bright sound that seems genuine enough, and shakes her head. “Nah,” she says, glancing at Harry. “I think he’s got that covered. Wouldn’t want to steal his thunder.” 

Louis laughs this time, because it’s clearly a joke. Right? Harry wouldn’t write songs about him. He’d never. “Of course. Besides, I hear you don’t really do that sort of thing anymore.” 

Taylor grins. “Not about boys, at least,” she says with a wink, and then, “But if you’ll excuse me, I think I hear a glass of wine calling my name.” 

She brushes past Harry on her way to the kitchen, giving his arm a squeeze as she passes. Harry pats it briefly, like they’re communicating with one another. Louis feels an inappropriate rush of jealousy and before he can stop himself, he’s crowded into Harry’s space, pulling down for a hard kiss. 

Harry makes a surprised noise against his mouth and bends into it, his hands coming to Louis’ hips, resting briefly and sliding to his bum. 

“You could’ve warned me that your fake ex-girlfriend was going to be here,” Louis says, biting at Harry’s bottom lip. Harry hisses when Louis’ teeth make contact, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“Sorry,” Harry says, but he doesn’t really sound sorry at all. “Must’ve slipped my mind.” 

Louis pulls away glaring and twists hard at one of Harry’s nipples. Harry yelps, surprised, but Louis knows the flush on his cheeks means he liked it. He’ll have to explore that later. 

“Are you going to introduce me to your posh friends or not, Harry?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, a little dazed. It’s a good look on him. “In a minute.” He leans in to kiss Louis again, his hands coming up to cradle Louis' jaw as he pushes him back against the door. Louis' hands grapple at the neck of Harry's jumper, kissing like he's starved for it. And he is. It's been two weeks, and while that's nothing compared to the years he'd waited before, it's still much too long. Harry kisses back like he needs it just as badly, hands moving from Louis' face to his shoulders, pushing his jacket off and to the floor. Louis knows it's stupid to do this here, in Harry's foyer with all his friends just a wall or two away, but Harry's hands are warm and wide and insistent, his mouth slick and needy, so Louis just goes up on his toes and wraps his arms around Harry's neck, swallowing the noise he makes. It's pretty stupid, but totally worth it.

Harry's just crowded into him again, pressed him firmly against the door when someone clears their throat behind them and they both freeze. Harry pulls away, red-cheeked and ruffled, the collar of his jumper stretched awkwardly and his hair even more of a mess than usual. Louis is sure he doesn't look much better. Fuck, his jacket is on the floor. A laugh bubbles up, but he presses his lips together and shoves his face into Harry's shoulder blade when he's turned around.

“Lovely as I'm sure this reunion is,” an oddly familiar voice says, dripping with sarcasm, “some people are waiting to be fed, Styles.”

“Fuck off, Nick,” Harry laughs, leaning back into Louis when he wraps his arms around Harry's middle.

“I'm hungry,” Nick whines, and Harry laughs again.

“Be there in a second, alright? Just go,” he says, and waves a hand, shooing him. Louis would like to be able to shoo people. The only person he can shoo is Liam, and Liam only pays attention to it less than half the time.

Louis hears footsteps retreating and pops his head up. “That was embarrassing,” he says, grinning as Harry turns around in his arms, leaning down to kiss the top of Louis' head.

“Could've been worse,” Harry says, “We could've been naked.”

 _Has that happened to you a lot, then?_ Louis wants to ask, but instead just pulls away, smiling up at him.

“He has a point, though, I'm starving,” he says, stooping to pick up his jacket. Harry takes it from him, hanging it on a hook next to the door. It looks like it belongs there, in a weird sort of way, hanging right next to one of Harry's long coats.

Harry takes his hand and squeezes, guiding him through the doorway to where his friends are waiting. Louis spots Niall where he's cuddled up to some huge bloke almost instantly. Taylor's perched herself on the arm of a cushy chair next to a girl even taller and thinner than her. They look eerily alike, and Louis wonders, sort of vaguely, if that's her model girlfriend. He wouldn't be surprised. Nick Grimshaw – who Louis realizes must be the Nick that interrupted them just moments ago – has squeezed himself onto the couch in between two leggy brunettes. Louis feels a bit lightheaded, all in all.

He feels Harry's hand on his lower back and it grounds him. He leans into Harry's side slightly, pinching his hip in a silent thanks.

“Alright?” he asks, and Louis nods.

“Fine, yeah.” _Just starstruck and completely out of my depth, but it's fine._ “Just hungry.”

Harry smiles, giving him a bit of a pat before withdrawing and clearing his throat. “Erm, everyone? This is Louis. Louis, this is – everyone.”

“Thank you, Haz, that's a brilliant introduction,” Louis says, rolling his eyes, the knot of tension in his chest loosening when everyone laughs. Right, he can do this. Famous people are just extraordinarily pretty normal people, and Louis can charm the pants off any normal person. He can totally do this.

“Well, introduce yourself while I get the food,” Harry says, and Louis snorts.

“Some host you are. It's a good thing you've got other talents, love.”

Harry's cheeks flush faintly, and he shakes his head, laughing. “You're a menace.”

“Yeah,” Louis shrugs. “Are you getting that food or not?”

Harry rolls his eyes when everyone laughs again, but goes through a door that Louis assumes is the kitchen. Louis surveys the room for a moment before Nick calls out to him.

“Louis, darling, come sit,” he says, one of the women sliding to the side so Louis can squeeze his bum into the space on the couch. “So,” Nick continues, leaning back and stretching an arm out along the back of the couch. “This is Alexa,” he nudges the girl to his right, “and this is Daisy.” Louis looks to the woman beside him, finds himself blushing when she waggles her fingers at him. Look, she's very pretty and he's not made of stone. Just because he doesn't want to fuck her doesn't mean he can't get a little flustered.

“Hi,” he says, flashing a smile and looking back to Nick. Christ, all of Harry's friends are too attractive. He regrets wearing his faded black shirt. He has ones that are newer, crisper, and he could've worn one of them. God, he shouldn't be here.

“So, you've known Harry a long time?”

Louis turns toward the voice, realizing it's Taylor's maybe-girlfriend who's spoken. He knew her name at one point, thinks it started with a K sound. Something American. Kasey? Kelsey? No.

“Yeah,” he says with a laugh. “Went through sixth form with him. Uh, high school, basically.”

“Oh my god,” Taylor says, putting a hand to her chest. “You have to tell us some stories. Harry's so weird about his past. He like, never says anything. Come on.”

Louis chews on his bottom lip, eyes flicking to the kitchen door. If Harry hasn't told any stories, there's probably a reason, but isn't it Louis' duty as his friend to embarrass the hell out of him? Yes. The answer is yes.

“One time he got his head stuck in a fence,” he says, and Taylor turns her whole body toward him, leaning forward.

“Tell me everything,” she says, eyes glinting, and Louis does.

“So, I must've just turned eighteen,” Louis says, scooting forward a bit on the couch, “and Harry was going to turn sixteen. He decided he wanted to go up to his stepdad's bungalow for his birthday, just me and him. Now, my mum was fine with this, because she thought I couldn't possibly get into too much trouble in a house alone with Harry. Harry's mum agreed, I suppose, because she seemed fine too. It was Robin, y'know? He was the issue. He was like, – ” Louis laughs, shaking his head. “ – He took forever to convince. Like, ages. He finally said yes maybe two days before Harry's birthday and only when we'd promised to do all the gardening for a month.”

“Seems harsh,” Nick says, and Louis grins.

“Nah, he knew us. Knew what we could get up to in the right situation. Probably just didn't want us burning the place down – which almost happened, by the way.” Taylor and her friend laugh, and Louis wonders distantly if Harry is still any sort of a troublemaker, or if that was just something Louis brought in him. He doesn't know that he really wants to know the answer.

“So, we get up there, right? And it's the first night, and it's freezing cold because it's February and no one's been up there since the summer to turn the heat on or anything.” Louis had learned later that Robin was selling it at the time, and Harry had wanted to have one last vacation there before it was gone. Louis doesn't know why Harry never told him, or why Robin finally agreed, but he is sort of grateful for it. “So we turn on the heat and drag the mattress from the big bedroom in front of the fireplace and light one up.”

“Sharing a bed in front of a fire,” Daisy says, sort of wistfully, “that's dead romantic.”

 _Yeah, I was really the paradigm of romance_ , Louis thinks, and smiles at her. “Right? Pity young Harold was immune to my charms. But, anyway. The fire's lit and we have dinner and watch a few movies, sneak a few beers, y'know, the usual,” Louis says, glossing over the part where he'd given Harry his gift – a necklace with a little paper airplane charm that he'd later seen on Taylor in some photo in a magazine, so yeah – “and we start hearing this like, mooing sound? Like a cow, right. But a dying cow. Really awful. Truly terrible.

“We hear it a couple of times and just ignore it, because it's not like we can do anything about a cow, right? Especially if it's dying or summat, neither of us are qualified to deal with that. So we put in another movie and watch it but we can still hear this noise. Finally Harry's like, 'Lou, we ought to go see what it is' and I'm like, yeah, alright, can't hurt, right?

“So we grab a torch and go, but once we get out there, we can't hear a thing. It's like, just silent, and Harry's getting jumpy, so I'm like, let's just go back in, yeah? But Harry's determined, and just shakes his head, and keeps going. After a few minutes there's still nothing, but we find this like, fence, for a pen or summat, for like animals. But really tall, for some reason. Harry climbs into it –” After Louis had basically bullied him into it, obviously. “– and starts looking around for this like, dying animal.”

Louis pauses, licking his lips and taking in everyone's reactions. Most of them seem at least halfway interested, so that's something, at least.

“Did you find anything?” Nick asks, and Louis shakes his head.

“Not a fucking thing. He searched that whole pen and there was nothing, so he's climbing back over the fence, right? Well, he gets about halfway up and it had these really big holes, not like a normal chain link thing, and all of a sudden there's this like, really loud noise, almost like thunder. Except it's not thunder, it's the sound of this huge bull running toward the fence. Honestly, this thing is gigantic, biggest one I've ever seen, and it's just barreling toward Harry.”

“Oh my god,” Taylor says, her mouth gaping open. She's a bit dramatic, but Louis has decided he likes it. “What did you do?”

“Obviously Harry fell to his death,” Louis deadpans, grinning when the room laughs and Taylor swats at him. “No, no, so he starts like, scrambling up the fence, right? And he drops his torch but doesn't notice, obviously. He gets over the fence and then jumps down the rest of the way, and then looks up at me like, proper horrified and whispers, 'Louis, the torch'.” Louis shakes his head.

“I told him to leave it, but he said Robin would kill him so he sticks his hand through one of the holes, right, except it's fallen too far, so he's like, 'I've got to do my whole head' and then forces himself through, like, one arm fully extended and his head popped through. He grabs the torch just fine, and the bull's fucked off somewhere else at this point, and Harry tries to get out and just can't. Like he's properly stuck, wiggling around and freaking out, and I'm freaking out, because I'm supposed to be the responsible one but my best mate's just got himself stuck in a bloody fence.” He's downplaying it, but it actually had been terrifying at the time, seeing Harry like that and feeling so stupid for getting him into the situation in the first place.

“We don't have our phones, right, so we can't call anyone, so I calm him down a bit, –” Louis had stroked his back and petted his hair as best he could from the odd angle, murmured soft things at him until he could convince Harry to relax and let him pull him out. “– and then just sort of yank him out. He had a great big cut on his arm, and one behind his ear, I think. Blood everywhere, obviously, so we hobbled back to the bungalow and I cleaned him up and we went to bed.”

Louis shrugs. “That's it, really.”

“Oh my god,” Taylor says, “did Robin ever find out? Were you guys okay? Is that why Harry hates cows????”

“Nah, we never told anybody,” Louis says, and realizes that he's never actually told that story to anyone at all. He shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. “Dunno if it's why he hates cows, but it might be.”

“Who hates cows,” Harry says, coming through the door with a tray of food in each hand. Nick cheers and sits forward on the couch and Louis stands quickly, taking one of the trays.

“I've got it,” Harry says with a smile, and Louis just shrugs in response to him.

“You hate cows,” Taylor says, taking a cracker with a piece of cheese and what looks like an olive on top of it and popping it into her mouth. “Louis just told us why.”

Harry looks at him, an amused twist to his mouth. Louis has a sudden urge to see if Harry still has a scar behind his ear.

“Tell me you didn't tell the fence story,” Harry says, and Louis grins guiltily.

“Sorry,” he says, but the way Harry rolls his eyes suggests he knows exactly how sorry Louis isn't.

“As long as it wasn't the one about Barbara,” Harry sighs, and then frowns when Alexa says, “Who, Barbara Palvin?”

God, isn't Barbara Palvin a model??? How does Harry even know her?

“No, my old boss Barbara. Worked at a bakery for awhile.”

“They kept him around for his buns,” Louis says with a wink, laughing when Harry pouts at him.

“Louiiiis,” he whines, leaning into him, settling his face into the crook of Louis' neck. “You're supposed to be my friend.”

“This is me being your friend, Hazza,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You ought to know that by now.”

Harry only whines again, so Louis brings a hand to his hair, presses his mouth right next to Harry's ear to murmur, “I'll make it up to you later then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, giving Louis a squeeze before detaching himself. Louis takes a seat in a chair next to Taylor and her girl, – whose name is Karlie, he later learns – and makes them tell him stories about Harry in London.

The twinges of jealousy he feels are surprisingly small, considering.

\---

When Karlie and Taylor have migrated across the room – or another room entirely it seems, in Taylor's case – Nick plops himself down and props his head up in his chin, staring at Louis.

“Louis, Louis,” he sighs, and it really is a bit jarring for Louis to hear his name being said by one of the most popular DJs in Britain.

“Nick,” he says, forcing a smile.

“What are your intentions with our darling Harold, then?” Well. That's blunt. He supposes Nick does interview people for a living, so he must know how to cut right to the chase.

“We're friends,” Louis says, carefully examining the stitching on his chair.

“Hm, what I saw earlier is not what I'd call friendship,” Nick presses, and Louis sighs, shrugging.

“It's – I dunno. It just happened. Suppose it's been a long time coming.” It's more than he wants to admit to someone he barely knows, but he has a feeling Nick won't just accept the kind of bullshit Louis usually spews.

Nick stays quiet for so long that Louis looks up, frowning when he realizes how intently Nick is staring at him.

“What?” he asks, bristling.

“If you fuck this up, I will personally come to your flat and kick you in your lovely arse. Got it?”

Louis blinks, and nods. “Sure,” he says, though he's not really certain why Nick seems to think Harry's the one who's going to get hurt at the end of this. He's not the one who's going to get left. Again.

“Think I'll go help in the kitchen,” Louis says, standing and making his way toward the door, which has been propped open. The kitchen's empty when he gets in, but he can't just stand around and do nothing, so he goes to the fridge, pausing when he hears voices coming from the small corridor to the laundry.

“Okay, but he obviously –” Taylor says, but she gets cut off.

“I don't care! Whatever you're going to say, I don't care. I love him, alright?” Louis feels his stomach fill with lead and sink to his knees. God, that's Harry, saying he loves someone.

He hears Taylor sigh. “I get that. It's pretty obvious he loves you too. But you have to think about Louis, Harry. Someone's going to get hurt if you can't commit.”

Right, so. Not Louis that Harry's in love with, then. Right? That must've been what she meant.

“I can commit,” Harry says, “I'm not just some – I'm not a slag, alright? I've just never had the chance.”

“Then prove it,” Taylor hisses, and Louis imagines she's poking him in the chest with one of her nails. It makes it all seem a little less terrible. “Make a decision.”

Louis can't take it anymore, can't hear Harry's answer, so he kicks the cabinet door loudly and curses, making sure to have a pained face on when Harry and Taylor emerge.

Harry frowns, nodding to where Louis is holding his knee. He looks more concerned than a person who's two-timing someone really has any right to. “Alright?”

“Fine, yeah,” Louis says, giving his leg one last rub. “Just needed a drink, or something.” He pauses, gaze flicking from Harry to Taylor and back again. “I might go, though. Home, I mean.”

He can see the way Taylor looks down, knows she's smart enough that she knows he must've heard the conversation. She excuses herself without saying anything, giving Louis a pat on the shoulder as she goes. It's comforting, in a way. He doesn't know why, but it is.

“You want to leave?” Harry asks quietly, taking a step forward. No, Louis does not want to leave, but he also doesn't want to get his heart shattered into a tiny million pieces again when Harry decides he's done with his whole nostalgia kick.

“Dunno, not my scene,” he says with a shrug, and Harry's frown deepens. He comes closer until he's right up against Louis, so close that he has to tilt his head down to see him and Louis has to strain his neck upward.

“You don't like them?”

Louis laughs. “That's not the issue, babe. It's more about fitting in, you know. They're all –” He waves a hand, as if to illustrate his point, “– and I'm me.”

“I like you just the way you are,” Harry says, tracing Louis' cheekbone with a gentle touch of his thumb.

“Did you just try to quote Bridget Jones at me?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. Harry smiles and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning in. “But that aside, I'd like it if you stayed.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, and hates how vulnerable-sounding his voice comes out.

“Definitely,” Harry agrees, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Louis' mouth.

“Guess I can clear my schedule, then,” Louis says, and Harry grins.

“Glad to hear it.” 

\---

Later, after everyone's filtered into the guest bedrooms for the night, Harry takes Louis by the hand and leads him to his enormous bed, falling onto his back, his legs spread invitingly. Louis climbs up to settle between his thighs, fingers tugging at Harrys waistband.

"Must be tired of wearing these," Louis says, thumbing them open and peeling them off when Harry murmurs out his agreement. "Suppose I've got some things to make up for, yeah?"

"You don't have to," Harry says, lifting his hips when Louis tugs down his pants.

"Want to," Louis tells him, leaning forward, pushing Harry’s shirt up, his mouth following his hands, catching on the edges of his tattoos and his nipples. Harry groans when Louis puts his mouth on one, scraping his teeth over it gently until it pebbles up and then soothing it with his tongue.

Harry whimpers something that might be Louis' name and he leans up to kiss him, rutting his hips down against Harry’s hardening cock. Harry hisses at the contact, hands palming at Louis' bum. The rough denim against his prick must be a good hurt, because he doesn't tell Louis to stop, only pulls his hips in again, shivering with it.

"Like it to hurt a little, huh?" Louis asks quietly, grinding down again just to watch Harry writhe and flush pink.

"Yeah, yes. Please," he says, hands sliding up Louis' torso, tugging his shirt off. "Please, Louis."

Louis lets him, throwing the shirt off the side of the bed and leaning down, stroking Harry’s cheek. "Want me to take care of you, love?"

"Yeah," Harry says, soft and private and trusting. It makes Louis' heart clench up in his chest, makes him lean down and kiss him. Harry may not be in love with him, but Louis gets this much, at least. It's enough. It has to be enough.

He kisses Harry again, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other snaking down between them to wrap around Harry’s dick. He moans into Louis' mouth, his back arching. Louis sets up a slow rhythm, alternating between kissing him hard and desperate and sweet and gentle, and his hand moves at the same slow pace. It drives Harry mad, and he kisses back until he can't anymore, until he goes limp and pliant against the bed and lets Louis do what he wants.

He's trembling all over, which Louis knows means he's close, so he kicks up his pace with no warning, shocking an orgasm out of Harry, judging by the way he nearly shouts when he comes, back arching so much that it looks painful.

"I've got you, I've got you, I've got you," Louis murmurs against Harry’s mouth, into his hair as he works him through it. Louis lets go of him when Harry pushes his hand away weakly, making a pathetic noise that shouldn't make Louis' cock twitch the way it does. Harry surges up to kiss him, hands touching Louis everywhere, sliding over his chest and down into his jeans, gripping his arse.

Louis whimpers when one of Harry's hands comes around to the front, palming at his cock.

"Want you to fuck me," Harry says, and Louis’ brain goes fuzzy. “So much. Want that so much.” 

“You’re sure?” Louis has to ask. He’s so hard he feels like he might die if he doesn’t get something on his dick, but he also doesn’t want Harry to blurt out something he doesn’t mean or take more than Harry’s really willing to give him. 

“M’sure,” Harry says, his fingers finding the head of his cock and squeezing gently. Louis shudders forward, a hand slapping down on the mattress next to Harry’s head. Harry looks up at him, still sort of glaze-eyed but smiling, his fingers squeezing again. 

“Yeah, yeah. Alright, careful with that,” Louis says, scrambling up and away from Harry to peel his jeans and pants off. Harry twists on the bed, reaching for his bedside table and returns with condoms and lube, dropping them on the bed next to himself as he stares at Louis. Louis flushes under the scrutiny but keeps eye contact. He hasn’t got anything to hide from Harry, after all. Not anymore. 

“God,” Harry chokes out, moving quickly to the edge of the bed, tugging Louis into his lap to kiss him. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, making Louis flush. God, Harry must tell everyone this. He feels stupid for believing it. 

“Thought I was fucking you,” Louis says instead, pushing at Harry’s shoulders until he flops back on the bed. He helps Harry scoot up, puts a pillow under his hips and grabs the lube. “You sure you can come again?” 

Harry looks mildly offended as Louis pours some of the lube out on his fingers, warming it up. “Of course I can,” Harry says, and Louis raises his sticky hands in defense. 

“Alright, then,” he says, leaning over him and easing a finger over his hole, sliding it in carefully. Harry’s hot and tight inside and the way his stomach muscles tremble every time Louis drags his finger out and back in makes Louis want to do this forever, keep Harry on edge until he’s writhing with it, wrecked and gorgeous. As it is, he presses another finger in, working Harry open slowly. He angles his wrist a few times, searching for Harry’s prostate, grinning when he finds it and Harry moans, his hips jerking. His cock starts to fill, and after a few minutes of Louis hitting that spot and adding a third finger, he gets fully hard again. 

“Louis, please,” he says, hips twisting down onto Louis’ fingers, trying to get more. Louis withdraws them gently, fumbles for a condom and slips it on, lifting Harry’s leg as he moves into place. 

“You’re sure,” Louis asks, barely pressing in. Harry lets out what sounds like a sob, nodding. 

“Stop _teasing_ ,” he whines, and Louis laughs, leaning forward a bit before pushing in slowly, biting his lip to distract from the feeling of sinking into him. He pauses once he’s gone as far as he can, his hips against Harry’s bum, watching the shake of Harry’s shoulders as he tries to get ahold of himself. 

“Yeah, yeah, go, I’m good,” Harry says, opening his eyes to look at Louis. They’re blown wide and black, and Louis leans down to kiss him briefly, reassurance more than anything, before sitting back up and grinding his hips in a bit before pulling out slowly to thrust back in. He starts slow, but Harry’s still shaking with it, his hands tangled in the sheets above his head, like he needs something to hold onto. The thought makes Louis’ hips jerk roughly and Harry moans like he’s a pornstar or something, his knuckles going as white as the sheets, and Louis grins. 

“Like that, yeah?” he says, trying to replicate the angle and the force, his grin only getting bigger when Harry moans again. Louis adjusts his position a bit, slides a hand up under Harry’s knee and uses the other to grip his hip hard enough to bruise as he starts fucking in again. Harry gasps with it, hands moving to brace himself against the headboard as he slides up the bed. 

“Close,” Harry says, blinking his eyes open to find Louis’ gaze. “Close, Lou.” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, speeding up his thrusts and dropping Harry’s knee to wrap his hand around his dick. Harry comes seconds later, bringing Louis over the edge with him. Louis slumps forward, resting his head on Harry’s chest and pulling out gently, tossing the condom off the side of the bed. It’s disgusting, but whatever, he’ll clean it up later. Maybe. 

“Fuck,” Harry says, breathless and running a hand through Louis’ hair. “That was --” 

“Let me get you a flannel,” Louis interrupts, kissing Harry’s forehead. He makes his way to the ensuite to get one, crawling back on the bed to clean Harry up. He drops it off the side of the bed when he’s done and snuggles in beside Harry, who wraps himself around Louis like an octopus. 

“G’night, Louis,” Harry mumbles, and Louis grunts out a reply, already half asleep. 

\---

_“Two,” Harry repeats, the glow of the pool lights reflected in his eyes. Louis stares at him, squeezes his hand again, but it's no longer warm. It's gone cold, just like the air around them, and the gaze in Harry's eyes._

_“Two,” Louis says again, confused, more of a question than anything. It's the wrong thing to say though, because Harry's eyes go dark._

_“Three,” he says, and jumps, his hand slipping out of Louis' before he can think to hold on._

\---

Louis wakes to early morning light and a warm body pressed against his. He's had his fair share of flings and short-term boyfriends, but he always manages to forget how nice it feels to wake up next to someone. Especially when he's just had a dream as weird as that.

“S'wrong?” Harry says from next to him, his voice slurring. “Bad dream?”

Louis shakes his head before remembering that Harry probably doesn't even have his eyes open yet. He moves on the bed so Harry's head is on his chest and he can run a hand through the curls. “Nah, just used to waking up now, aren't I?”

Harry whines at him, which Louis takes to mean that he doesn't want to be reminded of how early he plays golf. Or something. He settles easily enough though, like Louis assumed he would if he played with his hair a bit. Always did like that, Harry did. He feels Harry relax incrementally until his breathing's gone even and deep again, but he keeps stroking his hair. They both probably need a shower, but it really is too early for any kind of major movement.

Louis lets his mind drift, catalogues his aches and pains from last night, tries to gauge how badly he embarrassed himself in front of Harry's friends. They'd seemed to like him well enough, even Nick, who'd threatened him. That can't be all bad. That just means he's looking out for his friend. Louis knows they're quite close, especially since they share a friend in Caroline Flack. He assumes that's how they met, actually.

He feels a rush of such inappropriate jealousy that he almost gets truly angry. What does Nick even know about them? About Louis? He wasn't around, he doesn't know what they went through, or how much Louis loved him. Or how much Louis still loves him, even. He sighs, shaking his head at himself. He's being so stupid. He's lucky to have this, what Harry will give him now. He doesn't need to want more. He definitely doesn't have any right to want more.

His fingers find an odd bump just behind Harry's ear and he frowns, gently moving the hair out of the way so he can see. It's the scar from the story he told last night, from the fence and Harry's sixteenth birthday at the bungalow. He runs his thumb over it lightly, and then again. It used to be bright red and angry looking, but it makes sense that it's settled over time, calmed. Louis wonders if anyone's ever asked him about it.

“Feels good,” Harry mumbles, startling Louis a bit.

“Thought you'd fallen back asleep.”

“Nah,” Harry says, lifting his head and stretching his huge mouth into a yawn. He smiles sleepily at Louis when he's done, his eyes still little half-slits from sleep. “Can't. I'll nap later, maybe.”

“Okay,” Louis says quietly unable to keep himself from smiling as Harry leans up to kiss him softly.

“Good morning,” Harry says, his voice gone all quiet and private again. It still makes Louis' heart clench up and, inexplicably, makes him feel like he's about to cry.

“Good morning,” he parrots, and doesn't add: _I'd like to wake up to you every morning._

Harry smiles sleepily at him, rolling up onto all fours, caging Louis in. He kisses him on the mouth again, quick, and then on the cheek, the jaw, the ear, the neck.

“I'm glad you're here,” Harry says, hands sliding down Louis' sides and back up, making him shiver and lift his arms above his head, an echo of Harry's position last night. Harry doesn't do anything more than kiss him though, and run his hands over Louis' skin almost reverently, as if he's examining every inch he can.

Louis wonders if he treats all the people he fucks like this, or if maybe it's just reserved for Louis. He thinks it's probably the former. He makes himself believe it’s the former, actually, because the alternative is too much.

“I can't believe you have this,” Harry says, thumb scrubbing over the compass tattoo on Louis' forearm. He knows Harry had to have seen it by now, but neither of them had mentioned it so Louis thought maybe they never would, so he wouldn't have to feel like such an idiot.

“You'll never believe it, but I had no idea you'd gone and got one,” he says, shaking his head. Harry smiles up at him, but there's nothing but fondness to it, like even though they have complementary tattoos Harry doesn't think he's a creepy stalker. It's nice to be believed.

“Well, suppose I didn't give you any warning, did I?”

Louis laughs, shaking his head. “Coincidence, innit?” _Seems to be how our lives work_ , he thinks.

Harry looks at him a moment, uncharacteristically serious. “I don't think anything's a coincidence when it comes to us.”

Well then.

“Fate, yeah?” Louis says, and tries to keep the words from sounding too mocking. Harry smiles though, nodding.

“Fate.”

\---

Harry cooks up a full English for everyone, serves it all at his huge dining room table. He takes the head seat and makes Louis sit right next to him, keeps nudging Louis' foot with his own to get his attention, and then just makes silly faces at him when Louis looks over. Louis' been rolling his eyes a lot, but he can't quite keep the fond smile off his face. Harry's just so cute, is the thing. And Louis is so stupidly in love with him.

Eventually everyone leaves, needing to get back to their posh lives in London or, in Taylor and Karlie's case, the States.

“It was good to see you,” she says to Harry, wrapping him up in a tight hug, kissing the side of his head. “Remember what I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says, pulling away. “I know. Don't worry.”

Taylor smiles, pleased, and then turns to Louis. “You,” she says seriously, pointing a finger at him. It's kind of terrifying, actually. “You're great. I'm glad I finally got to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Louis says with a smile, though he can't say he's ever particularly wanted to meet her. It's been pleasant, though, and her company is enjoyable. Maybe he'll actually start letting her songs play all the way through when he hears them on the radio. Probably not, though.

Louis says goodbye to both of them again, watching fondly as Taylor kisses Harry's cheek one last time, mutters out a “Love you,” before hooking her arm through Karlie's and going out the door.

“God, it's bright out here,” Louis hears her say as they walk down the drive. “Are my sunglasses in the car?”

“Yeah, babe, they're on the dash,” Karlie answers, and Louis steps away from the door.

He heads toward the kitchen, figuring he can get one more cup of tea in before he has to leave, but he stops short when he spots a little black box on the counter, a card propped up next to it with Harry's name written on it in neat handwriting. Louis is nosy on the best of days, so it shouldn't be a surprise that he snatches the card up to read it.

 _Harry!! Thought I should give this back to you, given your current situation. REMEMBER: MAKE A CHOICE!! DON'T LEAVE HIM HANGING!_ it reads, signed with a messy heart and Taylor's signature. Louis looks to the box, his stomach filling with dread. It's the kind of box an engagement ring comes in, black and velvet with a gold rim. He sets the card down and runs a finger over the soft fabric of it.

So, Harry had proposed to Taylor? That doesn't make sense. Maybe their teams wanted them to get married, or something, and Harry picked out a ring, or maybe it's not even a ring at all. He's not really sure what else it could be, though, and he's also not sure why Harry would need a –

 _But you have to think about Louis, Harry_ , he remembers, ripping his hand away from the box. _Someone's going to get hurt._

Fuck. _Fuck._ Louis buries his face in his hands. How could he have let this happen? Harry's about to propose to someone and he's just carrying on with Louis like nothing's the matter? It's hard to imagine that Harry would have so little regard for Louis' and this other person's feelings. But, Louis supposes that people change and the music industry can wreak havoc on even the best of people. Aren't they always having breakdowns and spiraling into drug use? Maybe carrying on with two people isn't the worst thing someone's ever done.

Still, Louis can't let it continue. At least, not like how it is. It's not fair to Harry and not fair to the other person and it's definitely, definitely not fair to Louis.

“Lou?” Harry asks from behind him, a warm hand settling in the middle of Louis' back. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, lifting his head from his hands, smiling at Harry. “Just remembered I promised to do something with Liam today, and it's getting late, so,” he says, shrugging, stepping away from Harry's warmth.

Harry's face falls, but he nods. “Sure. Um. Have a good time?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” Louis says, running a hand through his hair. “Thanks for last night, too. It was – it was lovely, meeting your friends.”

“Of course,” Harry says, frowning. “Are you sure you're alright? You're acting kind of weird.”

“Can't remember where I left my shoes,” Louis lies, like he doesn't know exactly how he kicked them off last night at the door.

“By the door, I think,” Harry says, and Louis nods. He stands awkwardly for a moment, then wraps Harry up in a hug, turning his head when Harry goes for a kiss so he catches his cheek. It's all he can handle, at the moment.

“Taylor left you something, I think,” he says, pulling away and nodding to the work surface.

“Oh?” Harry turns toward it, and Louis takes the opportunity to escape.

\---

He pokes his head in the kitchen after he's shoved his shoes on, planning on telling Harry goodbye. He stops at the sight of him at the table, turning the box gently in his long fingers, staring at it. He looks far away, like maybe he's thinking about what he's done as well, and it makes Louis feel sick, so he turns away, going back to the door and getting his coat on.

“Bye Harry, thanks again!” he calls. He lets the door close behind him without waiting for an answer like the coward he is.

\---

The drive back to his flat is long, the roads crowded with early morning weekend traffic. He sits in his car and taps his thumbs on the steering wheel. He'd turned off his radio to avoid hearing one of Harry's songs, so he rolls down a window and listens to the rumble of cars next to him and the blur of conversations from the street. The white noise is good, lets him focus on driving and getting home without freaking out over the implications of sleeping with someone who's in love with someone else.

Harry couldn't be that in love with whoever it is, though. Louis knows that. He knows you don't just cheat on someone you're about to propose to, no matter what. He refuses to believe that Harry is that kind of person. Running it over and over in his head isn't going to help anything, it's just going to make him more confused. He needs to talk about it with someone. Maybe Zayn, or Liam, if Zayn's not home.

He makes it to his flat and climbs the stairs, trying to think of a way to bring it up to Zayn that doesn't sound ridiculous. He's sure Zayn will judge him, if only because he does little else, but still, he'd like to minimize it.

Whatever idea he'd come up with goes straight out the window as he lets himself into the flat to the sight of Zayn on the couch with a bloke. It's hardly the first time Louis' walked in on Zayn with someone, but the someone usually isn't Liam.

“What the fuck,” he says, more to himself than anything, but he sort of shouts it, from the surprise and all, so Liam and Zayn break apart quickly, both looking at him.

“Louis,” Liam says, eyes wild and a bit frantic. “I can explain.”

Louis frowns. “The only thing you need to tell me is why you're snogging on my couch. The other stuff I don't care about.” He knew it would happen eventually. Zayn's attractive and smart, and Liam's all right once he gets his head out of his arse for two seconds.

“Okay,” Liam says slowly and suspiciously.

“I need to talk about Harry,” Louis says, cramming himself between them on the couch. They're both fully clothed, thank God, or else Louis would've sat in a chair or something. On the floor, maybe. Anyway.

“That where you went yesterday, then?” Zayn asks, leaning over the arm of the couch to grab his cigarettes and lighter. He shakes the box at Louis and Liam and they both nod, standing to go out onto the balcony.

“He had like, a party,” Louis tells them after he's finished telling them everything else. How Harry was his best friend and moved away and stopped talking to him, how he came back and it was like nothing had changed, how much he loved him, how much he still loves him. It took a long time and most of Zayn's cigarettes, but he'd done it. He'd said it all.

Except about the dreams, but only because he hasn't figured them out yet.

“Last night?” Zayn clarifies. He's been mostly silent the whole time, but that's not unusual. Zayn likes to absorb his information and think on it awhile before saying anything.

“Yeah. All his posh friends,” Louis says with a laugh, but it's not a happy one. “Taylor Swift was there.”

“Wow,” Liam says, rubbing his head. “Did you get an autograph?”

“Fuck off,” Louis says, stubbing out his cigarette. “I overheard her talking to Harry. In private, like. She made it sound like there's two of us.”

“Two what?” Liam asks.

Louis swallows. “Two of us with Harry.”

“There's only one of you,” Liam says, frowning. “You haven't got a twin or anything.”

“No, like Harry's carrying on with him and some other bloke,” Zayn says, exasperated.

“Oh,” Liam says, eyes widening. “But – wait, no he's not. He wouldn't do that, would he?”

Louis shrugs. “I dunno. I want to believe he wouldn't, but when Taylor left she gave him something back, in like, one of those little black boxes, y'know.”

“Like a ring,” Zayn supplies, and Louis can't tell whether Zayn understands him or whether it means he's right about Harry. Probably the former. Louis' just going to tell himself it's the former. Zayn's smart, of course he can understand what Louis is saying.

“Yeah,” Louis says as lightly as possible. “Can't say I'm planning on getting married any time soon.”

Neither Liam nor Zayn says anything for a long moment. They all stare out over the balcony, watching their little neighborhood bustling in the early evening light. The weather's getting cooler, and Louis wishes he'd thought to bring his jacket out with him so he'd have something to cuddle himself in. He feels strange now that the whole story's out, vulnerable, almost, even though Zayn and Liam would never seriously judge him. It just sucks, having his feelings on display and talking about how they may not be reciprocated. He wants to bury himself in his covers and not come out for a month, actually, but here he is.

“I think you should talk to him,” Zayn says finally, breaking their little bubble of peace. “Like, we don't know him well, yeah? We don't have all the information. He'll tell you.”

“Yeah,” Liam says with a nod. “It'll be better than killing yourself thinking about it, right? It'd be better to know, I think. Even if –” He trails off, frowning. “– Even if it's bad news.”

Louis sighs. Having a conversation with Harry about this is exactly what he'd hoped to avoid, but he knows they're right. It's the only way it'll be cleared up. And Liam's right, even if it's not what Louis wants to hear, he can't just let it lie. Not after eight years.

“Besides,” Zayn adds with a shrug, “it might just be a misunderstanding.”

Louis nods, tries to quell the small blossom of hope blooming in his chest. If it is a misunderstanding then that could mean, well, that could mean that Taylor was talking about him. Harry could love him.

But no, no. Best not to get his hope up.

“Thanks, guys,” Louis says, “Now let's go back inside. It's freezing.”

\---

As it turns out, Louis was right not to get his hopes up. But that's why he'd nipped it in the bud the best he could, really, because he knew something like this would happen. Good things just don't happen to him. This couldn't be any different.

He's scheduled to work in the restaurant with Zayn a few days later. Harry's been down in London for a few days, working on things that he's been strangely mysterious about, which puts Louis on edge, so he's sort of been avoiding Harry in general. Which means he totally didn't mind when Harry texted him to say that he'd be gone a few more days. It's fine, Louis is fine. He's just been working in the restaurant, is all.

He's coming up the outside seating area from a break when two familiar blokes step out of the doors. Louis freezes at the sight of them, hiding behind a pillar so Jeff and Niall can't see him and try to like, talk to him.

Probably not a very rational response, he knows. But, still, he's stuck behind a pillar as they move closer to him, taking their seats at a small table, carrying on their conversation loud enough that Louis can hear them. He shouldn't listen. He shouldn't.

He does anyway.

“– So I guess Taylor's been giving him shit about it, and y'know Harry,” Niall's saying, rolling his eyes and Louis' stomach immediately sinks to his knees. Definitely not a conversation he needs to overhear. “Doesn't do anything anyone wants him to, ever.”

Jeff laughs loudly, “Right? He's the nicest dude I've ever met until you try to get him to do something that's not his idea. Then it's like fucking pulling teeth.”

They both laugh again before Niall continues, “But so he's been complaining to me like, every day. 'Nialllllll, I just dunno what to doooo'. It's driving me mad. He knows what to do, he's just being an arse about it.”

“I know,” Jeff says, shaking his head. “I mean, I don't really like Louis –” Louis nearly retches from the sound of his own name, unexpected. “– but he doesn't deserve to be treated like this. Like, just tell him! Before he finds out some other way.”

“Yeah, like SugarScape,” Niall says darkly, and Louis feels like he's about to throw up. A waiter approaches their table then, and Louis takes the moment of distraction to sneak by, rushing inside and into the bathroom. He locks the door and leans against it for a moment, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and taking a deep breath.

So, that confirms it, then. He doesn't even need to talk to Harry. Niall and Jeff think he's being jerked around, and what possible explanation for that is there other than that Harry has someone else? Well, a few, probably, but not many that fit into the context. Not enough to make him think it's something else.

He takes another shuddery breath and goes over to the sink, running the cold water and splashing his face with it. He's ages past his allotted break time, he knows, but he just needs a second. Just another second.

He leans heavily on the counter, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a slow, deep breath. He exhales like his mum taught him when he was a kid and would get overwhelmed and would need to calm himself down. He hasn't felt this out of control for a long time. Fuck, maybe he should go visit his mum. It's been a few months. She'll be happy to see him, and maybe she'll pet his hair and let him cry a little. Yeah, that sounds good. Really good. He'll also get to see the babies, which he always loves.

He takes another deep breath and grabs a paper towel, drying his face before he unlocks the door and steps into the corridor. Zayn's at the end of it, staring down the hall with a frown on his face, but Louis just shrugs and brushes past him.

“Ate a funny piece of shrimp, I think,” he says, patting Zayn's shoulder. “Fine now, though.”

Zayn looks at him a moment longer as if he doesn't quite believe him, but lets it drop with a shrug and shoves an apron at him. “Table three,” he says, and Louis nods, going back to work.

\---

“Louis Tomlinson, why did I have to find out from Phoebe's copy of _Teen Now_ that you've been hanging about with Harry Styles again?”

All things considered, Louis' mum sounds a lot less happy to hear from him than he thought.

“Why's Fizzy’s reading _Teen Now_ ,” he says, frowning.

“She's nineteen, Lou,” his mum answers, and he can practically hear the way she's rolling her eyes. Some things are genetic. “That's not the point.”

Louis sighs. “Look, it was a – it wasn't like, a planned thing. He didn't just ring me up one day and ask me to play golf. He came into the club and needed a caddy. No one even knew it was him.”

“Oh, but that's wonderful,” his mum coos. Christ, she's probably getting all teary-eyed. “He's so lovely. You were so sad when he moved away.”

 _That's an understatement_ , Louis thinks bitterly, kicking a stray rock on his balcony. How'd that even get up here?

“Yeah, it's great,” he says, crossing his free arm over his chest. He's forgotten a jacket again. “Look, mum, I'm going to come for a visit, alright?”

“A visit?” Her voice goes from cooing to suspicious too quickly for Louis' liking. “What's wrong, what's happened?”

“God, nothing's happened, Mum,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut at the way his voice breaks, giving him away. “Just miss you, is all. That a crime?”

“Of course not, love,” she says softly. Louis feels something unravel in his chest. “This weekend, yeah? I'll bring out the airbed for you.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, and, “Love you.”

“Love you too, Lou,” his mum says, serious, like she wants him to really believe it. “See you Friday.”

“Yeah,” Louis says and rings off.

\---

The problem with making plans on Monday for Friday is that Louis now has to wait the whole week to see his mum. The more time he spends thinking about being away from the club makes him more restless and antsy, and by Wednesday, when Harry comes back, he's about ready to vibrate out of his own skin.

“We ready to do this, then?” he asks Wednesday morning, pulling up in the cart. Harry's brought Jeff and Niall with him, which means this round is specifically supposed to be photographed, so he'll have to just stay in the cart and look pretty. Or something.

“Of course,” Harry says, smiling happily at him. It makes Louis' stomach churn. Harry doesn't seem to notice, though, just slides in the cart, laughing at something Jeff says to him that Louis doesn't hear.

He can do this. He can. It won't be that difficult, probably. He's an adult and he can be professional. This is his job. He can do this.

By the thirteenth hole, it's very clear that he cannot do this. Harry has been touching him all day, just little things, like brushing his fingers against Louis' knee as he drives or looping his arm around the back of Louis' headrest and playing with the baby hairs on the nape of his neck. Every touch makes him tense up, anxious until Harry stops touching him. Harry tries to ask him about it a few times, but Louis just shakes his head.

On the thirteenth hole, Jeff hits his ball into the trees and has to go and find it because it's his last one. Niall takes one look at Harry and Louis and turns on his heel to follow him. Louis wishes he could go too.

“Hey,” Harry says softly, running his thumb lightly over the tendon in Louis' neck. Louis shivers and shifts away. “What's wrong?”

“There's paps here,” he says tightly, hands clenching around the wheel briefly before letting go completely. “Makes me nervous.”

“M'sorry,” Harry says, voice still soft and private. He really does sound sorry, is the thing, and it just makes everything so much worse. For the first time ever, Louis wishes he would fuck off back to London and leave him alone.

It's not a good feeling.

“It's fine,” he says eventually. “Part of it all, right?”

“Right,” Harry says, and they fall silent. Louis bounces his knee for something to do, chewing on his bottom lip. He doesn't like the quiet, either. He doesn't like any of this. It all feels so wrong.

“Going to visit Mum this weekend,” he says, because he can't take it anymore. “She's proper pissed I hadn't told her about you.”

Harry laughs a bit. “Was she really?”

“Oh yeah,” Louis says, and this he can do. He can talk about his mum and pretend everything is fine. “She had to find out from one of Fizzy's magazines, apparently.”

“Ouch,” Harry says, laughing again. “Suppose that would be tough.”

“Suppose so,” Louis agrees.

“Tell her I said hello, then,” Harry says as Jeff and Niall come out of the trees, Jeff clutching a little white ball in his hand. “Took you long enough!”

“Took him forever to find it, didn't it?” Niall says, as if that's an explanation. Whatever, Louis doesn't care. This whole thing is easier when Niall and Jeff are there and monopolizing Harry's attention.

They both get back in the cart and Louis drives on, taking them through the rest of the course without offering much to the conversation. Harry's the only one who seems very bothered by it, keeps looking over at Louis with his concerned face on, but Louis just looks straight ahead and does his job. He thought it'd be easier, but it really hasn't.

He drives them up to the clubhouse at the end, managing not to flinch away when Harry puts a hand on his shoulder. “You sure you're alright?” he asks quietly, and Louis clears his throat, nodding.

“Yeah, just anxious to get home, y'know. It's been awhile.”

“Sure,” Harry says like he doesn't quite believe him. “I'm – are you free later? To like –” Harry waves his hand in the air, which Louis takes to mean _are you free to come to mine to fuck?_

Louis swallows around a lump in his throat and shakes his head. “No, sorry mate. Pretty busy all this week actually, so.”

“Right,” Harry says, his expression falling a bit. It goes against everything Louis has ever felt to know that he's caused Harry to be upset and not fix it, but he doesn't know how to fix this. But he also can't just carry on and wait to get his heart broken. “Well, see you tomorrow, then?”

Louis nods, giving Harry a flash of a smile before pulling away to return the cart. He can feel the weight of Harry's stare until he turns the corner around some trees. Even then, it lingers.

\---

Being alone with Harry the rest of the week is even worse, because it means he's here specifically to spend time with Louis, and that comes with like, expectations. Louis manages to evade him easily enough for awhile mostly by giving him the cheek when he leans in for a kiss and keeping his touches appropriately placed. He can feel Harry getting frustrated, though, and while he feels bad, he's really only doing it out of self preservation. He likes to think that if Harry knew, he'd understand. Maybe. Probably not, but whatever.

Friday morning comes and Louis finds himself more restless than usual. He's only got a few hours with Harry and then he's free the rest of the day to go to his Mum's. Harry's quieter than usual, a little bit sadder as well, clearly upset that Louis has been acting so strangely. Louis would stop if he could, would talk about it if he were less of a fucking coward.

He's not, though, so he just drives Harry from hole to hole in tense silence, nearly flinching at the ninth hole when Harry says, “I'm done for the day, take me back to the clubhouse,” and doesn't sound like the Harry Louis knows at all.

So, he nods and drives Harry back, trying not to be upset about the way that Harry slides out of the cart without talking to him – without looking at him, actually – and walks away, easy as that.

 _Suppose it's always been easy for him_ , Louis thinks, frowning and driving away.

\---

He makes it to his mum's by early evening, not even bothering to knock before walking in, calling out a, “I'm home! Come shower me in love and affection!”

Almost instantly he hears footsteps upstairs, thundering against the floor and down the staircase. Louis holds out his arms to catch the (elder) twins as they hurl themselves at him, nearly tackling him to the ground.

“Christ, you've grown,” he says, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. “How long has it been?”

“Weeks and weeks,” one of them says, and Louis realizes it's Daisy once she's lifted her head.

“Daisy,” he says, pinching her cheek, laughing when she makes a face at him. “Phoebe,” he says, giving the other girl a pinch as well.

“Louuuu,” they both whine, making Louis laugh even harder.

“What's this, have we got a beggar or summat?” Louis looks up to see Felicite at the top of the stairs, hip cocked against the railing. She's got a phone in her hand and a smile on her face, and Louis' chest aches with how much he's missed them all.

“You have,” he says. “Now give me something to eat or I'll rub my smelly feet in your beds.”

“Ewwww,” the girls chorus, and usher him into the kitchen. He sits in a chair and watches as they run around, trying to make something for tea out of whatever's made it to the end of the week in the fridge.

“Cheese toasties, I think,” Fizzy says with a frown, but the girls and Louis cheer. Fizzy sets to work making them and one of the twins finds a can of beans in the cupboard, so Louis cracks it open and puts it in a pan to heat up. It doesn't take long to finish, and the four of them sit at the table, eating, until Jay comes through the door, stops in the entrance to the kitchen, and squeals, rushing over to hug Louis around the neck. He hugs her back, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face to her neck, inhaling the scent of her body wash and perfume and shampoo. It's familiar, anchoring, and makes tears prick up at the edges of his eyes.

“Mum,” he says, and she shushes him, stroking a hand down his back.

“I know, baby,” she says, and he lets himself hide there for a little while longer.

\---

The younger twins come back from their playing at the park sometime later, screeching when they realize Louis is home and tackling him on the couch, getting mud and grass everywhere.

“Ernest, Doris,” Jay says exasperatedly, “Really?”

“Sorry mum,” they say, shuffling away to take off their boots and change their clothes. Fizzy and the elder twins are upstairs, doing their homework or wasting time on the internet or something. Louis doesn't really know. All he knows is that Doris and Ernest trudge up the stairs as well, leaving him and his mum and a re-run of some crap reality show playing on the telly.

“So,” she says, and Louis takes a deep breath, lets it out.

“So,” he parrots, and she gives him a look, the one that means he better spill and quick, and he sighs. “So, Harry.” He pauses, chewing on his cheek, unsure of where to start.

“Harry,” Jay prompts, raising her eyebrows.

“I'm in love with him,” he blurts, which isn't really what he wanted to say, but he supposes it's better to cut to the chase than not. “Like. Really in love with him. I think I – no, I know I always have been.”

His mum doesn't say anything, and he can't bring himself to look at her, so he lets the silence stretch for a long moment, until he feels like he might snap if something doesn't happen. He looks up at her, surprised to find her looking at him consideringly, her head propped up in her hand, fingers over her lips.

“Well, it's about time you realized it,” she says with a shrug, and Louis lets out a squawk.

“Excuse you,” he says, indignant, “you could've said something before, you know.”

“And take away the chance for you to figure it out on your own? Please,” Jay says, rolling her eyes. Her expression softens, though, when she looks back at him. “I don't think you would've believed me anyway.”

She's probably right. Louis wasn't too concerned with his parents' opinion of him eight years ago. In fact, if she'd said something then, it might've freaked him out even more.

“Well, I've figured it out,” he says, “and it sucks.”

Jay purses her lips. “He's not gay?”

“He is.” Oops, maybe he shouldn't have said that. Well, whatever, his mum won't tell anyone. “I mean, he's not out like, publicly. But, yeah. We've been –” He grimaces, trying to think of a word to use. “– Carrying on, I suppose. Together.”

Jay raises her eyebrows again. “So he just doesn't love you back?”

Louis shrugs and looks down at his lap, playing with a thread on his jeans. “Think he's got someone else, as well.”

“Oh, love,” she says, and a moment later Louis feels the couch sink down next to him. She pulls him in for a hug and he goes, echoing their position from earlier. She strokes a hand through his hair and lets him stay there as long as he needs.

She sends him to sleep later on the airbed, tucking him in with his favorite quilt that he knows she keeps just for him when he visits. He lays on his back and stares at the ceiling, trying to think of a way he could fucking fall asleep. Nothing works, though, so he rolls over and checks his phone, sighing when he realizes he has messages from Harry.

_sorry, know you're visiting the fam but I just wanted you to know that whatever I did, I'm sorry. Really._

_I miss you, a lot. That's stupid I think, but I do_

_I miss you so much, Lou._

Louis rubs his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds, trying to get a hold on his fucking life for once.

**mum says hi. Wants to know if you want to come for sunday dinner?**

Jay hadn't mentioned it at all, actually, but he knows she won't care. As loyal as she is to Louis, she'll probably also be ecstatic to see Harry again after so long.

_I would love that. A lot a lot. xx._

**dinner's at 7** , Louis texts and clicks off his phone. He rolls over and falls asleep easily, after that.

\---

_“Louis, what are you doing up there?” Harry asks him from the pool, his skin pale and wet, reflecting in the lights. He looks eerie, ethereal. Completely unreal._

_“You jumped without me,” Louis answers, and Harry tilts his head, frowning._

_“Doesn't mean you can't get in at all,” he says, floating up onto his back._

\---

Louis wakes to footsteps thundering down the stairs, shaking awake with a grunt. He's sweaty, and his mouth feels dry and disgusting. God, he's tired of those dreams. He's tired of Harry being everywhere.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Daisy says, flopping down on the airbed next to him, jolting him upwards a bit. He turns over without a word and tickles her, stopping only when her shrieks get so loud that his stepdad comes down the stairs and frowns at them.

“Louis, it's lovely to see you, but it's very early and I came home very late,” he says, and Louis makes a face at Daisy, who's started giggling.

“It's her fault,” he grumbles, flopping back onto the bed when Dan turns and goes up the stairs.

“He's not so bad,” Daisy says, looking down at him.

“I don't think he is, love,” Louis says, tugging her into his side when she lays down. “Just not used to people telling me to quiet down, am I?”

Daisy sighs dramatically. “I'll never move out.”

“Of course you will,” Louis scoffs. “Mum'll kick you out once you turn eighteen. It's a rite of passage, practically.”

“I'm tired of having to share everything,” she says, half whining, and Louis thinks of Harry and sighs.

“I know, love. It'll get better, though.”

It's as much for himself as it is for her, really.

\---

Louis neglects to tell his mother that Harry's coming for dinner on Sunday night until Sunday morning, when he texts a simple _leaving in a bit, bringing mum along, that ok?_

“Mum,” Louis calls when he reads it, “is it alright if Harry brings Anne?”

“What?” Jay says, sticking her head out the door of the laundry. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Harry's coming for dinner,” Louis says, “He wants to bring Anne. Is that alright?”

Jay stares at him for long enough that Louis starts to doubt he's said anything at all.

“I told you he was coming, right?”

Jay throws the dirty towel in her hand at him. “You bloody well didn't,” she says, eyes gone wide. “Are you joking?”

“Um,” Louis says, pulling the towel off his head. “No? Sorry.”

She makes him clean the whole house as punishment. 

He's just finished showering and dressing when the doorbell goes, and then he's rushing down the stairs, trying to shove Fizzy out of the way before she can open it and embarrass him.

“I got it, Fizz, I've got it, _move_ ,” he shouts, knocking her hand out of the way, using his whole body to shield her from the door.

“Louiiiiis,” she whines, but Louis gives her a look and she quiets up. The doorbell rings again and Louis hears Harry say, “Um, Lou?” slightly muffled from outside. He rolls his eyes fondly, mouth twitching up into a smile.

Louis wrenches open the door, keeping the smile on his face for Harry and Anne. Anne looks pleased to see him, seemingly unphased about what happened at the club, since she gives a little squeal and opens her arms for a hug – which Louis accepts graciously, kissing her cheek – but Harry looks a little shy about it all, hands clasped behind his back, looking down at his feet instead of at Louis. _I did that_ , Louis thinks. _I made him sad._

“Hazza,” he says as warmly as he can manage, letting go of Anne and wrapping Harry up in a hug. Harry's tense for a moment, but Louis just squeezes harder, and Harry relaxes into it, bringing his arms around to wrap Louis up.

“Hi,” Harry breathes into his ear. His lips catch on the edge of it, making heat spark up Louis' spine. “Missed you.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “You going to help me cook?”

Harry pulls away smiling, pleased. “Of course I am. Want it to be edible, don't I?”

“Fuck off, Styles,” Louis laughs, giving him a pinch before letting them in the door. “I apologize in advance for anything embarrassing my siblings say.”

He leads them into the kitchen, where Fizzy's sat herself at the table with a drink. She looks up when they enter, her eyes going wide.

“Oh my god,” she says, and Harry laughs.

“Fizzy, you've grown a bit.”

“Well so have you!”

She sounds so offended that Louis can't help but laugh, a warm feeling filling his chest. He'd been worried that Harry might've been awkward with his sisters, but he realizes that was unnecessary. Harry is still, largely, the same person that he was. Goofy and sweet and charming, and he couldn't forget anyone if he tried.

“Oh, Harry, hello,” Jay says when she comes in. “Thought I'd heard the bell go. Anne, hi!” Watching his mum hug Harry's is a bit of a surreal experience, takes him back a few years and leaves him wrong footed when they pull apart.

“Suppose we should leave them to it, eh?” Anne asks, and Jay nods.

“C'mon Fizz, let's leave them be.”

“We're really going to let Louis cook?” Fizzy asks, grabbing her drink and following the women into the sitting room.

“Wow,” Harry says after they've left, and Louis chuckles. “Fizzy's so. She's so different.”

“I know,” Louis laughs. “It happens every time I come home. Insanity.”

“And the twins?” Harry asks. “They must be. God, they must be so different.”

Louis nods. “Yeah, and there's – there's actually two sets now. Mum got remarried. Had more babies, obviously.”

“Oh?” Harry says, frowning. “Mark –?”

“He left,” Louis says tightly. “It was pretty soon after you moved.” Six months after, actually, when Louis had finally gained up enough courage to mention to his mum that he might like boys. Things between Mark and Jay had been rocky anyway, but still, it sort of sucks to be the thing that breaks up your parents.

“Louis,” Harry says softly, moving toward him like he's going for a hug but no, Louis can't handle that. He steps away, shaking his head.

“Don't,” he says sharply. “It was a long time ago. It doesn't matter now.” _You missed your chance,_ he wants to say. He doesn't think it'd help anything, is all.

“Okay,” Harry whispers, and Louis clears his throat.

“So, food?”

“Food,” Harry nods.

They make an easy spag bol, but they're making it for ten people, so the recipe has to be adjusted and there's more math involved than Louis would like, really, but he thinks it comes out okay in the end. No one complains, at least.

Harry pulls out a bottle of red that he'd brought for the adults and everyone has a nice chat over dinner. It's lively, just like a family dinner should be, and a few times Louis finds himself staring at everything happening around him with a fond smile on his face. It just feels right, is all. Like this is how it was always supposed to be.

It's always ruined, though, when he remembers that Harry's got a ring somewhere that he's going to give someone else.

He excuses himself to go to the restroom, finds that everyone's gotten up to do the washing when he's come back. He hates the washing, so he hovers by the doorway and watches Harry knock his shoulders into Jay's on purpose, laughing when Fizzy throws bubbles at him.

“Louis,” Anne says from beside him, startling him a bit.

“Anne,” he says, smiling at her. He's relieved to find it feels more natural than anything.

“I wanted to say thank you,” she says, and Louis shrugs.

“Not a problem. You know you're always welcome.”

“Of course,” she says, “but not only for that. I wanted to thank you for Harry. You make him so happy. You always have.”

Louis blinks, swallowing around the lump that's wedged itself in his throat. “Sure,” he says with a nod.

Anne puts her hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “I mean it. He's never happier than when he's with you. I don't think you realize it.”

 _I don't think you realize I'm in love with him_ , Louis wants to say, but can't form the words.

“He makes me happy too,” he says eventually. Anne smiles at him like she knows what he means, and tugs him in for a hug. He goes easily, all things considered.

When he pulls away, he feels a bit better about it all, and maybe a bit more determined to talk to Harry.

Harry and Anne leave late that night, even at the insistence that they stay. Louis even offered to share his airbed with Harry – much to Jay's dismay, judging from the state of her eyebrows when he'd said it – but eventually acquiesced, and let them leave.

He walks them to their car, opening the door for Anne and walking around the driver’s side to give Harry another hug.

“If I try to kiss you right now, would you let me?” Harry asks, the vulnerable lilt to it making Louis clench at his jumper.

“Your mum's right there,” he'd responds, tilting his chin up.

“Don't care,” Harry says, and leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Louis' mouth. Louis goes up on his toes to kiss back, letting his eyes slip shut and sinking into it. It's been too long, was the thing. It was probably a bad idea to let Harry kiss him in the first place weeks ago on the course, because now Louis feels like he needs it, like he might not feel the same without it.

Harry steps away, tracing his thumb over Louis' lips, leaving them tingling, before getting into his car. Louis lifts his hand in a wave and watches them drive down the street, just like he had all those years ago.

Later, snuggled under his quilt, he traces his lips again, feeling the phantom touch of Harry's mouth, trying to fall asleep.

\---

One of the reasons Louis had been able to take the afternoon off to visit his family on Friday was that he agreed to work a night shift for Liam. The club closed every day at 8 p.m., but following closing there were various things that had to be done, like the general upkeep of the place. Louis isn't custodial staff, so he doesn't have to actually clean rooms or anything, but he did get stuck driving around the course on a cart, checking to make sure there were no people snogging on the greens or wild animals trying to make a nest in the sandpits.

He's got a big torch, which is nice. Of course, it doesn't mean he could defend himself against anything if it came down to it. He'd probably just get rabies and die, actually.

Louis' driving around, wishing he'd thought to bring his iPod or something when he spots a figure on the twelfth green, just on the edge of the light provided by one of the big spotlights, and sighs, trying to put on his menacing face.

“Hey!” he calls, loudly enough that the figure jumps and turns. Louis flashes his lights. “You can't be out here.”

“Louis?” Oh, fuck. Of course it's Harry lurking about on the course after hours.

Louis comes to a stop, shining his light on him. Harry holds up a hand to shield his eyes and Louis sets the torch down. “Styles? What are you doing out here?”

Harry shrugs. “Couldn't sleep, I dunno. Lots on my mind.”

Louis chews on his lip, nodding. He knows the feeling. It's been less than a day since he's seen Harry, but it still feels like too long. Louis feels like his brain's going to melt in his skull if he thinks about any of it anymore.

“Fancy a bit of a lay down?” Louis asks. “The sky always helps me calm down.”

Harry glances up at the sky and then back down at him, shrugging. “Worth a shot,” he says, and flops to the ground. Louis laughs and settles down next to him, close enough that he can feel the heat from Harry's body, but not close enough that they're touching.

“I've been thinking about you,” Harry says after a few minutes. Louis nods.

“I figured,” he says. “I've been thinking about you too.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks. Louis looks over at him to find him already looking back, his face serious. “What about?”

“You first,” Louis says, shaking his head. Harry lets out a breath and looks away.

He's quiet for so long that Louis doubts he'll actually answer.

“I've been thinking about how I've been acting for the past few months,” Harry says eventually, slowly, like he's really taking his time about it. “Whether or not it's been fair to you. I don't think it has.” Louis' stomach sinks. Harry's letting him down easy.

“It's alright, Haz,” Louis says, wincing when his voice breaks. He feels Harry's hand on his own, twining.

“It's not,” Harry insists. He takes a deep breath. “I really like you, Louis.”

“Not enough,” Louis says before he can stop himself, scrunching up his face in the next second. That wasn’t what he wanted to say, but, well, he’s already said it. “I mean, since you’ve got someone else.” 

“What?” Harry asks, and Louis can feel him shifting next to him. “Louis, look at me. What?” 

“You’ve got someone else. I heard you and Taylor talking about it.” 

Harry looks bewildered, like he can’t even remember the conversation, which is completely unfair, because it feels like it’s been etched into Louis’ bones. He couldn’t forget it if he tried. 

“Do you really think I would carry on with two people at the same time?” Harry’s voice is flat when he asks.

“Well, no, I’d like to think not,” Louis says defensively, sitting up, “But I don’t know anymore, do I?” 

“I like you, Louis,” Harry says, seemingly at a loss for any other words. He looks sad, his mouth twisted into a frown and his eyebrows drawn together. “I like you so much.” 

Louis is quiet for a long moment, unsure of how to respond. He could say he likes Harry as well, or that he's actually arse over tits in love with him, wondering how much it might hurt when Harry has to say he doesn't feel the same way. Liking’s not the same as love, after all, and Louis is definitely, definitely in love. Harry hasn’t actually said he’s not been carrying on with someone else, so Louis doesn’t know what to think. He settles on, “You were the only thing I wanted back then, you know that?”

Harry's intake of breath is sharp and sudden, his hand squeezing around Louis'. “What about now?” he asks, an edge of urgency in his tone.

Louis frowns. “What?”

Harry leans forward, looking intently at him. “What do you want now?”

Louis shrugs, stares up at the sky for a long time. This isn't how it was supposed to happen. Louis was supposed to escape unscathed. Though he figures he passed up that opportunity the first time Harry kissed him. “You, still,” he says quietly. “Always you.”

“You are such an idiot,” Harry breathes, but before Louis can get insulted, Harry's rolled over, straddling Louis' waist and leaning down to kiss him hard. It's desperate, Harry's mouth insistent and needy against Louis', kissing and kissing and kissing him until he has to pull away, panting for breath.

Even in the dim light, Louis can see the way Harry's cheeks have gone flushed. His hands go to Harry's hips, tightening, trying to pull him back down.

“You are all I have ever wanted since I was sixteen,” Harry says, leaning down again. He kisses him once, hard and brief, like he absolutely has to do it before continuing. “There isn’t anyone else, there never has been. I wrote all these songs for you, Christ.”

“What?” Louis chokes out, trying to meet Harry's kisses and process everything he's saying all at once. He's sort of stuck on _you are all I have ever wanted_ , and _there isn’t anyone else_ , but he thinks it's understandable. He gets a hand to Harry's chest and pushes him away, holding him there. “What do you mean, songs? Explain.”

“My whole fucking first album,” Harry says, leaning up. Louis props himself up on his elbows. The twelfth green of the golf course really isn't the best place to be doing this, but, oh well. It's not like the cart has seats big enough for Harry's gangly legs. “It's for you.”

_This is for you. All of it._

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Louis groans, flopping back on the ground dramatically. “Are you joking? Everyone thinks it's for Caroline fucking Flack.”

“I can't control what they think,” Harry says defensively, “But it's – it's for you. It's definitely for you. I wrote all of them for you.”

“Okay, I get it,” Louis says weakly, a little overwhelmed. “But you couldn't have, like, I dunno. Called? Sent a letter? Anything?”

“I thought you didn't love me,” Harry says, voice small. “I thought you – you never said anything about wanting me to stay. I thought –” Harry's breath hitches, but he swallows it down. “I thought you wouldn't miss me.”

Louis surges up, knocking Harry over onto his back and leaning down to kiss him. “I missed you every fucking day,” he says fiercely, fisting a hand in Harry's jumper. “Do you understand me? Every day.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, a little dazed. His eyes look wide and dark. “Kiss me again,” he says, so Louis does.

They kiss like that for ages – alternating between lazy and slow; desperate and harsh – until Louis' knees ache from the ground and Harry's arching up against him, rolling his hips and trying to get friction. The sprinklers come on, so they have to scramble to the cart and high tail it out of there, but it's worth it for the way Harry's smiling, laughing like this is the greatest night of his life.

Maybe it is. It might just be Louis'.

\---

Harry takes him back to his house, lets Louis lay him out against the sheets and fuck him slow and deep until they're trembling with how badly they need to come. Harry goes first, sobbing out Louis' name and squeezing his hand so tightly that it might fracture a bone, but Louis just lets him, keeps fucking into him until he follows, landing heavily on Harry's chest afterward.

“I really fucking love you,” Harry says, stroking a hand through Louis' sweaty hair. Louis knows they've still got things to talk about, important things they need to decide and define and clarify, but that can come later. Right now, he looks up at Harry and smiles.

“Yeah, I love you too.” 

\---

_seven months later_

“Babe, we're gonna be late,” Louis calls down the corridor, pounding his hand against the wall for good measure. He's sure Harry can hear him just fine, but he likes to make as much noise as possible.

Of course, the noise wakes up Bruce, who immediately starts barking because he hates being waken up more than Zayn does. Louis sighs and goes into the kitchen to feed him, frowning when he realizes he's almost out of food. They'll have to get more, then. Or Louis will, or something. He loves Bruce, and he's glad he and Harry decided to adopt him two months ago, especially with all the traveling that Harry's about to do for his new album. It gets lonely in the house, and if Liam and Zayn weren't spending every moment fucking all over every surface in Louis' old flat, he'd just hang out there.

But they are, so adopting a dog it was. Besides, he supposes it's teaching him responsibility, or something.

“Gonna take Bruce out really quick,” Louis shouts up the stairs and grabs the lead, stuffing his feet into his vans. He's glad for Harry's excessive wealth and excessive need for privacy, because it means he doesn't have to worry about getting papped looking like a sex-rumpled mess outside of Harry's house. It also means he can let Bruce off the lead and let him run around for a bit. He sits down on the grass as Bruce wanders, sniffing one patch of ground for a moment before bounding off to sniff at another. He finds a stick eventually and brings it up to Louis, wagging his tail.

“Good boy,” Louis says, scratching behind his ear. Bruce flops down next to him, rolling over onto his back to get Louis to pet his belly. It's a bit similar to what Harry does, actually. Maybe everyone in their little family is just easy for Louis' touch.

Yeah, that must be it.

He messes around outside for a few minutes more and leads Bruce back in, frowning when he realizes Harry hasn't come down from the bedroom. He gets Bruce some fresh water and heads back up the stairs, calling Harry's name. There's no answer. Maybe Harry left while Louis was outside? No, he would've said something to Louis. He would've told Louis if he was leaving.

 _Not if he didn't want you to know_ , a traitorous voice hisses at the back of his mind, and Louis speeds up his pace.

“Babe,” Louis says somewhat breathlessly as he reaches the bedroom door, half-expecting to find an empty room. His heart's pounding like crazy, but it's alright. Harry's in there, stood in front of the mirror and messing with one of his necklaces.

“You know Lou and Caroline will just make you change into something else when you get there,” Louis says, crossing the room to wrap his arms around Harry's waist from behind. “Might as well just wear sweatpants.”

“Can't get papped in sweatpants, Louis, please,” Harry says, leaning back into Louis' embrace. Louis presses his face between Harry's shoulder blades for a moment, inhaling the mixed scent of his laundry detergent and cologne before hooking his chin over his shoulder, smiling.

“I'm sure your image would survive.”

“I dunno,” Harry tells him, jostling Louis' head as he shrugs his shoulders. “Might do irreparable damage. I might become a laughingstock and have to retire.”

“Well,” Louis says gently, turning his head to brush his lips against Harry's neck, grinning when he feels Harry shiver with it. “That wouldn't be the worst thing, I suppose.”

Harry doesn't respond, so Louis glances in the mirror, sighing when he sees Harry's frown.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he says, but Harry shakes his head.

“I know,” Harry says, squeezing one of Louis' arms. “I'm just – I wish you could come with me.”

Louis sighs again. They've had this discussion before. Harry doesn't understand why Louis wants to keep working, especially when it makes him so miserable. Louis doesn't want to – to just live off Harry's hard-earned money when he's perfectly capable of making his own. And it's really not so bad at the club now that Liam's been promoted and Louis has taken over his old job. He goes a bit mad in the office sometimes, but it's fine. As long as he never has to play another round of golf, he'll be fine.

“You know I can't,” Louis says, trying to pull away. Harry catches him though, and spins around so they're face to face.

“I know you can't,” Harry echoes, pressing their foreheads together. “Doesn't mean I won't miss you.”

“I'll miss you too,” Louis says, hands going to rest on Harry's hips. He wants to slide them under the hem and touch the skin there, but he knows where that road leads, and it's not one they've got time for. “But we've got a few days, yeah? Let's think about it later. When you're not late.”

Harry hums and leans down to kiss him, soft and lingering, running his thumbs over Louis' cheeks. Louis smiles into it, his hands tightly gripping Harry's hips. He smirks when Harry breathes out hard against his mouth, letting out a little whine.

“Don't tease,” Harry murmurs. Louis laughs and slides his hands up Harry's chest, over whatever necklace he's chosen for the day. It feels different than usual, not like the Star of David he sometimes wears, or the cross.

“What's this, then,” Louis says, fingers finding the chain and pulling it out of his shirt. It's the paper airplane necklace, actually, the one Louis gave to him on his sixteenth birthday. The one Louis saw later on Taylor Swift in a candid. Louis handles it carefully, tracing the edges with his thumb.

“Been awhile since you wore this one,” he says as lightly as he can manage. Harry's hand comes up to wrap around his, lifting it to his mouth to kiss.

“Yeah, Taylor gave it back to me last time she was here,” Harry tells him softly. Louis thinks back, remembers the black box that he'd been so sure was an engagement ring and the accompanying note. Christ, he's such an idiot.

“She's a pretty big fan of yours, eh?”

“Think so,” Harry says, “She told me she's going to write a song about getting my head stuck in a fence. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Louis laughs, breaking their embrace so he can put a hand over his mouth to try to stifle the sound. Harry doesn't look mad, though, just amused. He's probably already plotting his revenge.

A car honks from outside and they both jump, looking out the window.

“Time to go,” Harry says with a sigh, and Louis nods, following him out. It's only a short meeting today, so Louis can go and stay in the car until it parks in the garage while Harry gets photographed entering the building. Louis isn't sure what the meeting is about, but he'll take all the extra time with Harry he can get, even if he is confined to the backseat of a car.

He's sure he can think of something to do, in any case.

\---

Three days later and Louis is in the car with Harry on the way to the airport, looking out the window instead of at Harry's stony face. They'd gotten into it again, this time about Louis coming to visit Harry in LA. It hadn't been a matter of affording it – Louis isn't so proud that he won't accept a thousand-pound plane ticket as a gift – but the fact that Louis just couldn't take the time off work. It's always busy going into the spring and summer, and Louis just doesn't want to fuck anything up. It's the first time he's had a job this important; he can't just say fuck it because his boyfriend's loaded.

Harry'd said that meant he wasn't committed to their relationship, which made Louis call Harry selfish for wanting everyone to cater to him. Harry had gaped at him and turned away, which means Louis had won the last word. It doesn't feel like much of an accomplishment, really.

“You're not selfish,” Louis says quietly to the window, looking over when he feels Harry's hand on his thigh. Harry's looking at him with big, sad eyes, and if it were anyone else, Louis might think they were just trying to manipulate him. It's Harry, though, and he trusts Harry, and fuck, he's going to miss Harry and really doesn't want to fight with him before he gets on a plane.

“You're not selfish, I'm sorry,” Louis says, putting his hand over Harry's.

“I'm sorry too,” Harry says, sounding a bit watery. “I mean – I don't think you're – I know you're committed, alright? I know you love me. It's just – hard. It's hard, leaving you.”

“I know,” Louis says, like he doesn't still remember watching Harry drive away in that red Subaru. “It's not easy being left.”

Harry turns his hand to twine their fingers together. “I know,” he says, leaning his shoulder into Louis'. They sit like that for a few minutes until Louis takes a deep breath and says,

“I'll talk to Liam about some time off.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks tentatively, squeezing his fingers around Louis'. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “But you're going to regret it if I get fired.”

Harry smiles, his cheek dimpling. “I won't, but okay. Thank you,” he says, leaning down to kiss Louis.

“You're welcome,” Louis says primly, kissing him back, laughing when Harry nips at his bottom lip.

“I'm gonna call you every day,” Harry says, cupping Louis' head with one of his giant hands. “Alright? Every day.”

“Of course you are,” Louis says fondly, like he won't be blowing up Harry's phone every chance he gets.

Harry pouts in response, refusing to smile until Louis kisses him again. By the time they're done with that, they've pulled up to the airport and Harry has to get out of the car. He gives Louis a tight – if not a bit awkward – hug, holding onto him a long time before letting go.

He gathers his bag from the trunk and pokes his head back in the window, startling Louis.

“Christ, Haz, what do you need?”

“Just this,” Harry says, kissing him hard on the mouth. There are paparazzi out there, Louis knows, but he's not certain where they are, or whether or not they can see into the car and see that Harry's kissing Louis and not a woman. He decides he doesn't actually give a fuck either way and kisses back with everything he's got. It'll be awhile until he sees Harry again, after all.

Harry pulls away eventually, once he realizes he can't actually climb back into the car through the window. He rifles through his bag for a moment as Louis tries to catch his breath.

“Here,” Harry says, thrusting something at him. Louis takes it, realizing it's Harry's newest album. “S'one of the first copies. Wanted you to have it.”

“Thank you,” Louis says, smiling up at him. Harry's been oddly secretive about it, banning Louis from the underground studio while he's been working on it, going to London on his own to record whatever he's been writing at the label's studio. Louis doesn't mind, not really. He knew he'd hear it eventually, and he was right.

“Let me know when you've listened to the whole thing, yeah?” He leans in one last time to kiss the top of Louis' head. “Love you, bye.”

Louis rolls his eyes as Harry scurries off, pulling out his phone to send him a text.

**Love you too. Fly safe. xx.**

He watches as Harry disappears around a corner and rolls up his window, telling the driver to take him back home.

\---

Louis doesn't end up listening to the album for almost a week. It's not that he doesn't want to, really, it's just that he's swamped with work and doesn't want to turn it on in the background. He wants to be able to focus on it, and appreciate what Harry's voice sounds like over the posh speakers in his living room.

He doesn't have a break until the weekend, though, so he gets home on Friday and plops himself down on the couch, CD case in hand. There's a picture of Harry on the front, obviously, and the album title, which is a line from some Bukowski poem. He opens it, sliding the booklet out of the case and flipping it open. All of Harry's titles are either one word or stupidly long, which makes Louis roll his eyes. There's sixteen tracks with lyrics, but a page that's entirely black with a seventeen on it. An instrumental song, then? It'd certainly be an interesting move.

He flips the case over, reading the titles again, but there's nothing next to the seventeen. Just a blank space. He frowns, shrugs, and gets up to put the disc in anyway. He'll figure it out eventually, probably.

The album is good, better than his second by far. There's a good mix of ballads and more upbeat songs, all featuring Harry's guitar in the background, strumming pleasantly. Track eight, “Happily”, makes Louis a bit emotional, but that's only because he can't help but think it's about him. Harry does that, apparently. Writes songs about him.

He sits on the couch and listens to the whole thing, and he's just about to doze off as he hears the familiar opening chords of “Something Great”, but on the piano, and then his own voice say quietly, “You're recording, then?”

“Yeah,” recorded Harry answers, and Louis sits straight up on the couch, staring at the stereo as if it will help him figure any of this out.

“Ready for this, love?” recorded Louis asks, and Louis feels his cheeks warm at the memory of Harry's answering smile.

Harry takes the first verse, and Louis has to take a few deep breaths when he hears his own join in at the chorus. He just – he can't believe Harry used this. It's not – it's a song he's already released, what use is there releasing a new version of it?

 **you're absolutely mad** Louis texts, not thinking about the time difference. It turns out not to matter, because Harry responds in seconds.

_listening, then? xx._

**yeah. it's lovely.**

_it's for you, in case you didn't know._

Louis rolls his eyes. **yeah, I got it, thanks.**

His phone rings a moment after it says the text has been delivered, Harry's face flashing up on the screen. Louis answers it immediately.

“So, you like it?” Harry asks, sounding a bit breathless. He's nervous, maybe. Louis feels a bit nervous.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, like it's a secret, even though it's really not. “I love it.”

Harry lets out a breath over the line, and suddenly Louis feels it, feels the thousands of miles between them like a gaping hole in his chest.

“Glad you like it,” Harry says, and the only thing Louis wants is to be next to him.

“I'm going to come see you,” he says suddenly, “As soon as I can. Gonna ask about it tomorrow.”

“Good,” Harry says, and Louis can practically hear the smile. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Louis says, leaning back against the couch. “Now tell me about your day.”

He falls asleep to the slow rumble of Harry's voice. It's not the worst, all things considered.


End file.
